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in  2008  with  funding  from 

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THE     DOCTOR'S 
RECREATION    SERIES 


CHARLES   WELLS    MOULTON 

General  Editor 


VOLUME      FIVE 


A    CiuiE   /OH    THE    Gout 


iMiamnafi 


C^c    DOCTOR'S 
WINDOW 


uuujiui^KMi?;u:'iikn  ivciwr  ft;eiaaaiwifi^wB9Txc^iL/si 


POEMS 

BY  THE  DOCTOR, 
FOR  THE  DOCTOR, 
and  .... 
ABOUT  THE  DOCTOR. 


EDITED  BY 

Ina  iRuddelle  Marten. 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY 

TZClilUam  pepper,  A.  D.,  11. 1>. 


1904 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

Chicago        akron,  o.        new  York 


Copyright,  1897,  by 
INA  RUSSELLE  WARREN 


COPYRIOHT,    1904, 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Pl\j 

lollO 


Table  of  Contents 


An  Advance  Subscriber  to  the  Editor  Dr.  Edward  D.  Freeman    .  .  iii 

The  Drama  of  the  Doctor's  Window  .  Austin  Dobson     9 

The  Convalescent  TO  HER  Physician    .  Sydney  Dobell     15 

Andrew  Jack,  M.  D John  Stuart  Blackie     ....  16 

The  Morning  Visit Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  18 

The  Country  Doctor Will  Carleton 21 

Doctors Eugene  Field 22 

Doc  Sifers James  Whitcomb  Riley     .   .  25 

To  Dr.  (Afterwards  Sir  Edward)  Wilmot  William  Duncombe 27 

In  a  Dissecting  Room Dr.  William  Burt  Harlow   .  .  28 

Ode  to  a  Doctor James  G.  Burnett     29 

A  Ballade  of  Busy  Doctors     Dr.  James  Newton  Matthews  30 

My  First  Patient     Dr.  William  Tod  Helmuth    .  31 

Morituri  Salutarmus     Dr.  J.  Dickson  Bruns      ...  36 

The  Remedy  Worse  than  the  Disease   Matthew  Prior     40 

Marshal  Saxe  and  His  Physician    .  .  .   Horace  Smith 41 

A  Quandary      George  Herbert  Stockbridge.  43 

The  Doctor's  Hard  Case William  E.  A.  Axon     ....  45 

Great  Expectation  OF  THE  House  of  Doc  Henry  Ames  Blood 46 

Minerva  Medica     Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell    ....  49 

Doctor  Munroe     James      Hogg     52 

Fallopius  to  his  Dissecting  Knife    .   .   Eugene  Lee- Hamilton     ...  53 

Doctor  Bonomi S.  Baring-Gould     54 

The  Quack  Doctor Wentworth  Dillon 62 

The  Transferred  Malady Joel  Benton      63 

With  the  Scapel H.  Savile  Clarke 64 

The  Joking  Doctor     Francis  Saltus  Saltus  ....  66 

Guneopathy John  Godfrey  Saxe 68 

Doctor  Gall James  Smith 69 

Most  to  be  Pitied Mrs.  George  Archibald    ...  71 

Miss  Sophronia's  Cure     Sam  Walter  Foss 72 


434847 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

HousEV/iFELY  Physic Thomas  Tusser 73 

A  Human  Skull     Frederick  Locker- Lampson  74 

The  Newcastle  Apothecary     George  Col  jman 75 

Boyle  Godfrey,   Chymist  and  Doctor 

OF  Medicine Dr.  Charles  Smith 78 

The  Old  Doctor Eva  Wilder  McGlasson     .   .  80 

On  AuFiDius Actius  Sannazarius 81 

The  Same  who  Physick'd  Peter  ....   Lord  Byron 82 

The  General  Practitioner Dr.  J.  Johnston 83 

In  the  Hospital Rose  Terry  Cooke 84 

The  Doctor's  Answer Dr.  Samuel  W.  Kelley  ...  85 

Professions— Physic George  Crabbe 87 

Lines  by  a  Lunatic,  M.  D H.  Savlle  Clarke 95 

On  Dr.  Lettsom,  By  Himself John  Coakley  Lettsom  ...  95 

The  Village  Doctor Samuel  Slayton  Luce    ...  96 

Bessie  Brown,  M.  D.  . Samuel  Minturn  Peck    ...  98 

Rabelais  AND  the  Lampreys Horace  Smith 100 

The  Doctor's  Walk Andreas  Justin  Kerner  ...  101 

Old  Gaffer  von  Gunther Dr.  Henry  W.  Roby   ....  102 

Doctor  Brighton J.  Ashby-Sterry    ......  104 

An  Old  Skull James  Clarence  Harvey  .   .  106 

The  Country  Doctor     S.  Q.  Lapius 107 

The   Latest    Reconstructive    Nerve- 
Tonic  and  Restorative Ben  King,          110 

The  Honors  that  Await  the  Discoverer 

IN  Surgery Dr.  George  Chismore     ...  1 1 1 

Sent  TO  A  Patient,  with   Ducks  ....  Dr.  Edward  Jenner    ....  112 

Love-Making Rebecca  Morrow  Reaves    .  113 

The  Good  Physician Thomas  William  Parsons    .  114 

In  a  Museum     Stuart  Cameron 115 

My  Uniformed  Nurse Miles  Tyler  Frisbie 116 

To  A  Young  Physician John  Greenleaf  Whittier  .   .  I  17 

Doctor  Dan's  Secret     Frederick  Langbridge    ...  118 

The  Blush Henry  Chandler 119 

The  Dispensary Samuel  Garth 120 

A  Doctor's  Motto Richard  Graves     124 

Milk Dr.  Joseph  B.  Grisv/old    .   .  125 

The  Quack  Doctor's  Proclamation  .   .  Charles  Dickens 128 

The  Physican Charles  Lansing  Raymond  .  129 

A  Fourteenth  Century  Doctor    .  .  .  Geoffrey  Chaucer     ....  130 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

The  Woman  Healer Katharine  Lee  Bates  ....  131 

The  Doctor  and  I Willian  Osborn  Stoddard  .  .  1 32 

The  City  Dead- House Walt  Whitman 133 

The  Doctor's  Message     Abraham  Perry  Miller   ...  134 

Doctor  O'Finnigan Henry  A.  Van  Fredenberg  .  135 

A  Discovery  IN  Biology     Mary  E.  Leverett 138 

The  Doctor's  Story Will  Carleton      139 

To  Doctor  Empiric Ben  Jonson •  .  .  .  141 

ViRi  HuMANi,  Salsi  Et  Faceti,  Gulielimi 

Sutherlandi William  Meston,  M.  A.     .  .  142 

Surgeons  Must  BE  very  Careful  .  .  .  Emily  Dickinson 146 

His  Pneumogastric  Nerve Eugene  Field 147 

The  Army  Surgeon Sydney  Dobell 148 

A  Cure  for  the  Gout Edward  Octavus  Flagg  ...  149 

On  a  Quack William  Wadd 151 

Surgery  vs  Medicine Dr.  William  Tod  Helmuth  .  152 

Kindness  first  Known  in  a  Hospital  .  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning  154 

In  the  Hospital Grace  Denio  Litchfield  ...  155 

A  Young  Doctor's   Apology  for  the 

Smoothness  of  His  Face Johannes  Santolius 160 

The  Skeleton Fred  Emerson  Brooks   ...  161 

Synonymes     Charlotte  Fiske  Bates    ...  163 

The  Drug  Clerk Francis  Saltus  Saltus  ....  1 64 

Granny's  "  Yarbs" John  Langdon  Heaton  ...  165 

The  Doctor  in  Love Dr.  Andrew  McFarland     .  .  166 

The  Art  of  Preserving  Health — Diet.   Dr.  John  Armstrong  ....  167 

Peace  Born  of  Pain Caroline  Edwards  Prentiss  .  181 

Ode  to  Dyspepsia Dr.  John  Todhunter    ....  182 

The  Consultation     •  .  .  .  .  Richard  Graves 183 

Too  Progressive  for  Him Lurana  W.  Sheldon    ....  184 

The  Doctor Dr.  T.  P.  Wilson 185 

"Doc" Henry  Coolidge  Semple.  .  .  187 

Epitaph  on  a  Patient  Killed  by  a  Can- 
cer Quack Dr.  Lemuel  Hopkins  ....  191 

Greeting  to  Dr.  Holmes Dr.  Andrew  H.  Smith    ...  193 

The  Old      Oaken  Bucket J.  C.  Bayles 195 

Verses  TO  Dr.  George  Rogers    ....  Edmund  Waller 196 

Fin-de-Siecle  Love  Song Dr.  Frederick  Peterson  ...  197 

Ode  to  Dr.  Hahnemann,  the  Homoeo- 

PATHiST Thomas  Hood 198 


TABLE  OF   CONTENTS 

Our  Faith Dr.  N.  W.  Rand 202 

/Esthetics  in  Medicine Dr.  E.  B.  Ward 205 

The  Birth  and  Death  of  Pain      ....   Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell  ....  207 

Feminine    Pharmacy Dr.  Harvey  Washington  Wiley  2 10 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  M.  D Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  .211 

Hygeia  Grant  Thy  Blessing Dr.  John  C.  Hemmeter   .  .  219 

A  Hospital   Story Theron  Brown 220 

A  Lover  of  Learning Eva  Wilder  McGlasson  .  .  .  221 

Sir  Medicus  Challenged Henry  A.  Van  Fredenberg  .  223 

The  Water  of  Gold Austin  Dobson 224 

Audi  Alteram  Partem Samuel  Bishop 225 

On  Dr.  Cheyne,  the  Vegitarian  ....  Dr.  Andrew  Wynter  ....  226 

On  Dr.  Wynter Dr.  John  Cheyne 226 

De  Arte  MeDENOi Dr.  D.  Bethune  Duffield    .  227 

The  Young  Medic  and  the  Old  ....  Dr.  S.  F.  Bennett 242 

The  New  Doctor Charles  H.  Crandall   ....  244 

The  Doctor's  Wife Dr.  W.  J.  Bell 246 

The  Physician's  Hymn Charles  Wesley 247 

The  Hospital  at  Night J.  William  Lloyd 249 

Ballad  of  the  Doctor's  Horse  ....  Absalom  B.  Salom 250 

In  Hospital William  Ernest  Henley  ...  251 

Ole  Docteur  Fiset Dr.  Wm.  Henry  Drummond  .  271 

A  Medical  Student's  Letter Richard  Dalton  Williams  .  .273 

The  Doctor's  Dream Anonymous 275 

The  Doctor Anonymous 277 

Lines  to  a  Skeleton Anonymous 278 

Doctor  Drollhead's  Cure Anonymous 279 

OuLD  DocTHER  Mack Arthur  PERcivaL  GrAves    .  280 

Appendicitis Anonymous 282 

Lament  of  an  Unfortunate  Druggist  .  Anonymous 283 

Notes     285 

List  of  Authors 287 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

A  Cure  for  the  Gout Frontispiece 

From  the  Original  by  Dendy  Sadler. 

The  Anxious  Moment 72 

From  the  Painting  by  B.  Vautier. 

The  Doctor 142 

From  the  Painting  by  Luke  Fildes. 

The  Post-Mortem 220 


Introduction 

LDEST  and  most  honorable  of  Guilds,  the  Doctors 
have  written  much  in  all  ages  about  the  Science  and 
Art  of  Medicine.  A  great  building  scarce  suffices  to 
hold  their  writings.  In  turn  the  Doctors  themselves 
have  been  much  written  about,  and  here  are  gathered  a  well 
chosen  collection  of  these  pieces.  They  have  been  chosen 
not  at  random  but  so  as  to  present,  as  to  one  who  looks  through 
a  window  at  the  stream  of  life  hurrying  along  some  great 
thoroughfare,  all  its  phases  and  aspects.  Through  the  ages 
from  the  early  dawn  of  human  existence  the  Medicine  Man  has 
pursued  his  strange  yet  sacred  calling.  Possessed  of  mysterious 
knowledge  which  sets  them  apart,  dealing  ever  with  the  tremen- 
dous and  baffling  problems  of  life  and  death,  looked  to  by  all 
when  suffering  and  danger  impend,  worshiped  as  divine  and 
hailed  as  deliverers  when  the  issue  is  good,  or  derided  and 
punished  for  their  failures,  the  doctors  have  always  enjoyed 
strange  experiences.  The  sufferer  cannot  promise  too  much  in 
the  hope  of  relief,  but  the  danger  past  and  the  pain  relieved 
how  odious  when  the  welcome,  thrice  welcome  Healer  is  re- 
garded as  the  importunate  creditor  whose  demand  seems 
monstrous  in  the  light  of  half  forgotten  suffering.  Nor  have 
the  Doctors  failed  to  show  the  inconsistencies  and  the  frailties 
of  their  human  nature,  ever  struggling  with  burdens  too  heavy 
to  be  borne,  and  with  problems  too  hard  to  be  solved.  The 
triumph  and  the  defeat,  the  glory  of  heroic  devotion  and  self- 
sacrifice,  and  the  meanness  of  avarice  and  ambition,  have 
been  seen  and  well  portrayed.  Through  it  all  the  belief  of  the 
people  in  the  healing  art  has  remained  true ;  through  it  all  the 
aim  of  the  Doctors  has  remained  noble  ;  and  the  larger  light  of 
knowledge  of  these  later  days  is  defining  clearly  the  splendid 
services  rendered  to  humanity  by  medicine.  It  is  no  longer 
merely   the   personal  relation   of   doctor   to  patient,   and   the 

(V) 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

personal  service :  there  Is  coming  now  the  infinitely  broader 
relation  of  sympathy  and  confidence  between  the  entire  com- 
munity and  the  whole  medical  profession,  engaged  in  a  common 
work  of  discovering  and  removing  the  causes  of  Disease. 
Hygiene  and  preventive  medicine  are  the  fields  wherein  the 
greatest  triumphs  of  the  future,  as  of  the  past,  are  to  be  achieved. 
But  there  will  always  remain  the  close  and  individual  relation  of 
Doctor  and  patient  which  is  so  well  depicted  in  all  its  phases  in 
the  verses  of  this  collection.  We  turn  from  the  larger  outlook 
of  the  struggle  which  science  wages  against  disease,  to  the 
more  narrow  sphere  wherein  every  home  of  the  land  the  Doctor 
wages  his  never  ending  battle  with  the  individual  cases  of  weak- 
ness, of  suffering,  or  of  injury,  In  the  poetry  and  In  the  prose 
of  life,  in  its  happiest  drama  and  its  wildest  tragedies  he  has 
ever  his  important  part  to  bear.  It  is  good  to  find  that  the  role 
assigned  him  in  the  unfolding  scroll  of  Time  is  one  of  ever 
growing  honor  and  importance. 

— William  Pepper,  M.  D. 


Preface 

IN   MAKING  this  anthology  of  medical  verse.  It  has  been  my 
aim  to  produce  a  volume  that  will  direct  attention  to  the 

valuable  poems  written  by  the  Doctor  and  about  the  Doctor. 
The  medical  profession  has  written  much  admirable  poetry 
which  has  appeared  chiefly  in  local  and  medical  journals.  I 
have  made  an  effort  to  preserve  and  bring  together  in  perma- 
nent form  these  poems,  with  miany  old  favorites  by  well-known 
authors.  One  limited  volume  would  not  contain  all  the  verse 
written  upon  this  subject,  and  I  am  aware  that  poems  worthy  a 
place  have  been  omitted.  On  the  other  hand,  a  number  of 
original  poems  appear  which  were  written  expressly  for  this 
book.  The  volume  is  compiled  especially  for  the  Doctor,  with 
the  hope  that  he  may  find  in  it  a  restful  diversion  from  an  ardu- 
ous practice.  My  task  has  been  lightened  by  the  considerate 
criticisms  and  kindly  suggestions  offered  by  members  of  the 
profession,  to  whom  I  here  extend  cordial  thanks. 

For  the  use  of  copyrighted  poems  I  gratefully  acknowledge 
the  graciousness  of  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Company; 
Harper  &  Brothers;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons;  Dodd,  Mead  & 
Company  ;  Lee  &  Shepard  ;  Roberts  Brothers ;  Frederick  A 
Stokes  Company ;  Bowen-Merrill  Company  ;  Cassell  Publishing 
Company  and  many  of  the  authors  represented. 

—I.  R.  W. 

Buffalo,  N.  Y., 

September  3rd,  1897.  (vii) 


AN  ADVANCE  SUBSCRIBER 

TO    THE    EDITOR 


"PHE  Doctor's  Window"!    Hail  the  day 

4>    You    NAMED    YOUR    BOOK    SO    QUEER ! 

The  doctors,  one  and  all,  will  say 
^    "You've  'read  your  TITLE  clear'." 


Could  I  but  read  my  title  clear 

To  mansions"  all  my  own. 
My  "doctor's  window"  would  appear 

The  marvel  of  the  town. 

Yes,  it  should  glow  with  flowers  rare. 

With  sunshine  from  above; 
The  brightest  gems  should  sparkle  there. 

Enkindling  all  our  love. 

A  "window"  where  the  light  would  shine 
On  pleasures  pure  and  bright; 

Where  one  could  worship  at  the  shrine 
Of  poets,  with  delight. 

And  such  is  yours  to  give  today, 
"The  Doctor's  Window"  true, 
That  in  December  voices  May 
With  poems  old  and  new. 

— Dr.  Edward  D.  Freeman. 


(viii) 


THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Drama  of  the  Doctor's  Window 


IN  THREE  ACTS,  WITH  A  PROLOGUE. 


'A  tedious  brief  scene  of  young  Pyramus, 
And  bis  love  Tbisbe ;  very  tragical  mirtb.^' 

Midsummer-Nigbt' s  Dream. 


PROLOGUE 

'ELL,  I  must  wait !  "     The  Doctor's  room. 

Where  I  used  this  expression, 
Wore  the  severe  official  gloom 
Attached  to  that  profession  ; 
Rendered  severer  by  a  bald 

And  skinless  Gladiator, 
Whose  raw  robustness  first  appalled 
The  entering  spectator. 

No  one  would  call  "The  Lancet"  gay,— 

Few  could  avoid  confessing 
That  Jones  "On  Muscular  Decay" 

Is,  as  a  rule,  depressing: 
So,  leaving  both,  to  change  the  scene, 

I  turned  toward  the  shutter, 
And  peered  out  vacantly  between 

A  water-butt  and  gutter. 


10  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Below,  the  Doctor's  garden  lay, 

If  thus  Imagination 
May  dignify  a  square  of  clay 

Unused  to  vegetation. 
Filled  with  a  dismal-looking  swing — 
'.\  :'        Tha.t  brought  to  mind  a  gallows — 
An  empty  ken'nel,  mouldering, 
^•V.^  •  ;,  And  two  dyspeptic  aloes. 

No  sparrow  chirped,  no  daisy  sprung. 

About  the  place  deserted ; 
Only  across  the  swing-board  hung 

A  battered  doll,  inverted. 
Which  sadly  seemed  to  disconcert 

The  vagrant  cat  that  scanned  it, 
Sniffed  doubtfully  around  the  skirt. 

But  failed  to  understand  It. 

A  dreary  spot!  And  yet,  I  own. 

Half  hoping  that,  perchance.  It 
Might,  in  some  unknown  way,  atone 

For  Jones  and  for  "The  Lancet," 
I  watched ;  and  by  especial  grace, 

Within  this  stage  contracted. 
Saw  presently  before  my  face 

A  classic  story  acted. 

Ah.  World  of  ours,  are  you  so  gray 

And  weary.  World,  of  spinning. 
That  you  repeat  the  tales  today 

You  told  at  the  beginning? 
For  lo !  the  same  old  myths  that  made 

The  early  "stage  successes," 
Still  "hold  the  boards."  and  still  are  played 

"With  new  effects  and  dresses." 

Small,  lonely,  "three-pair-backs"  behold, 

Today,  Alcestis  dying; 
Today,  in  farthest  Polar  cold, 

Ulysses'  bones  are  lying; 


THE  DRAMA  OF  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW  11 

Still  in  one  s  morning  "Times"  one  reads 

How  fell  an  Indian  Hector; 
Still  clubs  discuss  Achilles'  steeds, 

Briseis'  next  protector; — 

Still  Menelaus  brings,  we  see. 

His  oft-remanded  case  on; 
Still  somewhere  sad  Hypsipyle 

Bewails  a  faithless  Jason ; 
And  here,  the  Doctor's  sill  beside, 

Do  I  not  now  discover 
A  Thisbe,  whom  the  walls  divide 

From  Pyramus,  her  lover? 


ACT  THE  FIRST 

ACT  I  began.     Some  noise  had  scared 
The  cat,  that  like  an  arrow 
Shot  up  the  wall  and  disappeared ; 
And  then  across  the  narrow, 
Unweeded  path,  a  small  dark  thing. 

Hid  by  a  garden-bonnet. 
Passed  wearily  towards  the  swing. 
Paused,  turned,  and  climbed  upon  It 

A  child  of  five,  with  eyes  that  were 

At  least  a  decade  older, 
A  mournful  mouth,  and  tangled  hair 

Flung  careless  round  her  shoulder, 
Dressed  in  a  stiff  ill-fitting  frock. 

Whose  black  uncomely  rigor 
Seemed  to  sardonically  mock 

The  plaintive,  slender  figure. 

What  was  it?     Something  in  the  dress 
That  told  the  girl  unmothered ; 

Or  was  it  that  the  merciless 

Black  garb  of  mourning  smothered 


12  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Life  and  all  light : — but  rocking  so, 

In  the  dull  garden-corner, 
The  lonely  swinger  seemed  to  grow 

More  piteous  and  forlorner. 

Then,  as  I  looked,  across  the  wall 

Of  "next-door's"  garden,  that  is — 
To  speak  correctly — through  its  tall 

Surmounting  fence  of  lattice, 
Peeped  a  boy's  face,  with  curling  hair, 

Ripe  lips,  half  drawn  asunder. 
And  round,  bright  eyes,  that  wore  a  stare 

Of  frankest  childish  wonder. 

Rounder  they  grew  by  slow  degrees 

Until  the  swinger,  swerving. 
Made,  all  at  once,  alive  to  these 

Intentest  orbs  observing, 
Gave  just  one  brief,  half  uttered  cry, 

And, — as  with  gathered  kirtle. 
Nymphs  fly  from  Pan's  head  suddenly 

Thrust  through  the  budding  myrtle, — 

Fled  in  dismay.     A  moment's  space. 

The  eyes  looked  almost  tragic  ; 
Then,  when  they  caught  my  watching  face 

Vanished  as  if  by  magic ; 
And,  like  some  somber  thing  beguiled 

To  strange,  unwonted  laughter. 
The  gloomy  garden  having  smiled, 

Became  the  gloomier  after. 


THE  DRAMA  OP  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW  13 


ACT  THE  SECOND 

YES:  they  were  gone,  the  stage  was  bare,- 
Blank  as  before ;  and  therefore, 
Sinking  within  the  patient's  chair. 
Half  vexed,  I  knew  not  wherefore, 
I  dozed;  till,  startled  by  some  call, 

A  glance  sufficed  to  show  me. 
The  boy  again  above  the  wall. 
The  girl  erect  below  me. 

The  boy,  it  seemed,  to  add  a  force 

To  words  found  unavailing. 
Had  pushed  a  striped  and  spotted  horse 

Half  through  the  blistered  paling, 
Where  now  it  stuck,  stiff-legged  and  straight. 

While  he,  in  exultation. 
Chattered  some  half-articulate 

Excited  explanation. 

Meanwhile,  the  girl,  with  upturned  face, 

Stood  motionless,  and  listened; 
The  ill-cut  frock  had  gained  a  grace, 

The  pale  hair  almost  glistened  ; 
The  figure  looked  alert  and  bright, 

Buoyant  as  though  some  power 
Had  lifted  it,  as  rain  at  night 

Uplifts  a  drooping  flower. 

The  eyes  had  lost  their  listless  way, — 

The  old  life,  tired  and  faded. 
Had  slipped  down  with  the  doll  that  lay 

Before  her  feet,  degraded ; 
She  only,  yearning  upward,  found 

In  those  bright  eyes  above  her 
The  ghost  of  some  enchanted  ground 

Where  even  Nurse  would  love  her. 


14  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Ah,  tyrant  Time !  you  hold  the  book, 

We,  sick  and  sad,  begin  it; 
You  close  it  fast,  if  we  but  look 

Pleased  for  a  meager  minute ; 
You  closed  it  now,  for,  out  of  sight, 

Some  warning  finger  beckoned ; 
Exeunt  both  to  left  and  right ; — 

Thus  ended  Act  the  Second. 


ACT  THE  THIRD 

OR  so  it  proved.     For  while  I  still 
Believed  them  gone  for  ever. 
Half  raised  above  the  window  sill, 
I  saw  the  lattice  quiver ; 
And  lo,  once  more  appeared  the  head. 

Flushed,  while  the  round  mouth  pouted, 
"  Give  Tom  a  kiss,"  the  red  lips  said, 
In  style  the  most  undoubted. 

The  girl  came  back  without  a  thought, 

Dear  Muse  of  Mayfair,  pardon, 
If  more  restraint  had  not  been  taught 

In  this  neglected  garden; 
For  these  your  code  was  all  too  stiff. 

So,  seeing  none  dissented. 
Their  unfeigned  faces  met  as  if 

Manners  were  not  invented. 

Then  on  the  scene,  by  happy  fate, 

When  lip  from  lip  had  parted, 
And,  therefore,  just  two  seconds  late, 

A  sharp-faced  nurse-maid  darted ; 
Swooped  on  the  boy,  as  swoops  a  kite 

Upon  a  rover  chicken. 
And  bore  him  sourly  off,  despite 

His  well-directed  kicking. 


THE   CONVALESCENT  TO  HER  PHYSICIAN  15 

The  girl  stood  silent,  with  a  look 

Too  subtle  to  unravel, 
Then,  with  a  sudden  gesture  took 

The  torn  doll  from  the  gravel ; 
Hid  the  whole  face,  with  one  caress. 

Under  the  garden-bonnet. 
And,  passing  in,  I  saw  her  press 

Kiss  after  kiss  upon  it. 

Exeunt  omnes.     End  of  play. 

It  made  the  dull  room  brighter 
The  Gladiator  almost  gay. 

And  e'en  "The  Lancet"  lighter. 

— Austin  Dobson. 


The  Convalescent  to  Her  Physician 

RIEND,  by  whose  cancelling  hand  did  Fate  forgive 

Her  debtor,  and  rescribe  her  stern  award 
Oh  with  that  happier  light  wherein  I  live 

May  all  thine  after  years  be  sunned  and  starred 
May  God,  to  Whom  my  daily  bliss  I  give 

In  tribute,  add  it  to  thy  day's  reward, 
And  mine  uncurrent  joy  may'st  thou  receive 

Celestial  sterling !     Aye  and  thou  shalt  thrive 
Even  by  my  vanished  woes :    for  as  the  sea 

Renders  its  griefs  to  Heaven,  which  fall  in  rains 
Of  sweeter  plenty  on  the  happy  plains. 

So  have  my  tears  exhaled  ;  and  may  it  be 
That  from  the  favoring  skies  my  lifted  pains 
Descend,  oh  friend,  in  blessings  upon  thee ! 

— Sydney  Dobell. 


16  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Andrew  Jack,  M.  D. 


r 


"AREWELL  to  the  University! 
I'm  titled  now  with  high  degree  ; 
All  capped  and  doctor 'd  forth  I  ride. 
To  see  the  world's  great  pomp  and  pride 


For  years  I've  drudged,  a  patient  hack, 
With  whip  and  driver  at  my  back ; 
But  now  unmuzzled  I  propose 
To  track  the  game  with  my  own  nose. 

The  wide,  wide  world  before  me  lies, 
With  many  a  blank,  and  many  a  prize ; 
But  crowns  are  nowhere  gained  by  sighs ; 
He  nobly  wins  who  boldly  tries. 

What  made  the  Romans  men  of  might 
But  wars  to  wage  and  foes  to  fight  ? 
Then  let  us  fight  like  them,  and  win ! 
Or.  if  we  lose — bad  luck  's  no  sin ! 

Farewell  gray  hall  and  fusty  book. 
And  front  severe  and  solemn  look ; 
Long  rows  of  lectures  dull  and  dry. 
In  mummied  state  there  let  them  lie 

Farewell,  proud  Arthur's  Seat,  where  oft 
With  bouyant  heart  I  stood  aloft. 
And  through  the  broad  sun's  crimson  glow. 
Looked  on  the  old  gray  town  below, 

And  spied  afar  the  huge,  huge  Bens 
That  gird  our  peaceful  Highland  Glens, 
Where  birches  nod,  and  fountains  pour 
On  ferny  brae  and  pebbly  shore. 

And  fare-thee-well,  my  student's  home, 
Far  up  near  to  the  starry  dome, 


ANDREW  JACK,  M.  D.  17 

'Mid  wreaths  of  smoke,  and  bristling  crops 
Of  gables  gaunt  and  chimney-tops  1 

And  fare-thee-well,  good  Dame  M' Knight, 
Who  kept  me  always  right  and  tight. 
And  washed  my  clothes  and  brushed  my  hat ; 
God  bless  you,  honest  dame,  for  that ! 

And  farewell,  Nelly  M'Intyre, 
Who  smoothed  my  bed  and  trimmed  my  fire, 
Blue-eyed,  blithe-hearted,  bright-souled  Nell ; 
By  Jove,  I  loved  that  girl  too  well ! 

Dear  blue-eyed  Nell,  when  Dame  M'Knight 
Called,  "  Come  up,  Nell,  and  put  things  right!" 
And  thou  shot  up  with  three  light  skips, 
My  heart  leapt  to  my  finger-tips. 

No  courier  of  the  heavenly  clans, 
With  light  blue  scarf  and  silver  vans, 
Could  witch  my  eye  like  view  of  Nell ; 
By  Jove,  I  loved  that  girl  too  well! 

But  love  is  not  a  bond  to  bind 
The  full-blown  sail  that  takes  the  wind ; 
A  fair  face  marred  Mark  Antony ; 
So,  Nell,  I'll  think  no  more  of  thee! 

Farewell,  my  comrades  and  my  chums. 
With  whom  I  picked  dry  learning's  crumbs. 
And  quaffed,  four  green  and  golden  years, 
Life's  mingled  bowl  of  hopes  and  fears. 

God  bless  you  all.  my  jolly  boys! 
The  day  is  past  to  play  with  toys ; 
I  go  to  fight  my  way, — and  you. 
Do  well  what  thing  you  find  to  do! 

I  hear  the  railway  whistle  call. 
And  brush  the  briny  drops  that  fall ; 
I  leave  you  now  plain  Andrew  Jack, 
Perhaps  I'll  come  Sir  Andrew  back! 

— John  Stuart  Blackie. 

6—2 


18  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Morning  Visit 

'  /  I  SICK  man's  chamber,  though  it  often  boast 
/t"   The  grateful  presence  of  a  literal  toast, 
I  /    Can  hardly  claim,  amidst  its  various  wealth, 
-/       ■■■  The  right  unchallenged  to  propose  a  health ; 
Yet  though  its  tenant  is  denied  the  feast, 
Friendship  must  launch  his  sentiment  at  least, 
As  prisoned  damsels,  locked  from  lovers'  lips. 
Toss  them  a  kiss  from  off  their  fingers'  tips. 

The  morning  visit, — not  till  sickness  falls 
In  the  charmed  circles  of  your  own  safe  walls ; 
Till  fever's  throb  and  pain's  relentless  rack 
Stretch  you  all  helpless  on  your  aching  back ; 
Not  till  you  play  the  patient  in  your  turn. 
The  morning  visit's  mystery  shall  you  learn. 

'Tis  a  small  matter  in  your  neighbor's  case, 
To  charge  your  fee  for  showing  him  your  face ; 
You  skip  up-stairs,  inquire,  inspect,  and  touch. 
Prescribe,  take  leave,  and  off  to  twenty  such. 

But  when  at  length,  by  fate's  transferred  decree, 
The  visitor  becomes  the  visitee. 
Oh,  then,  indeed,  it  pulls  another  string; 
Your  ox  is  gored,  and  that 's  a  different  thing! 
Your  friend  is  sick  :  phlegmatic  as  a  Turk, 
You  write  your  recipe  and  let  it  work ; 
Not  yours  to  stand  the  shiver  and  the  frown. 
And  sometimes  worse,  with  which  your  draught  goes  down 
Calm  as  a  clock  your  knowing  hand  directs, 
Rhei,  jalapae  ana  grana  sex, 
Or  traces  on  some  tender  missive's  back, 

SCRUPULOS  DUOS  PULVERIS  IPECAC  ; 

And  leaves  your  patient  to  his  qualms  and  gripes 
Cool  as  a  sportsman  banging  at  his  snipes. 


THE  MORNING  VISIT  19 

But  change  the  time,  the  person,  and  the  place, 

And  be  yourself  "  the  interesting  case," 

You'll  gain  some  knowledge  which  it's  well  to  learn; 

In  future  practice  it  may  serve  your  turn. 

Leeches,  for  instance, — pleasing  creatures  quite  ; 

Try  them. — and  bless  you, — don't  you  find  they  bite? 

You  raise  a  blister  for  the  smallest  cause. 

But  be  yourself  the  sitter  whom  it  draws. 

And  trust  my  statement,  you  will  not  deny 

The  worst  of  draughtsmen  is  your  Spanish  fly  1 

It's  mighty  easy  ordering  when  you  please, 

Infusi  sennae  capiat  uncias  tres  ; 

It's  mighty  different  when  you  quackle  down 

Your  own  three  ounces  of  the  liquid  brown. 

Pilula,  pulvis. — pleasant  words  enough. 

When  other  throats  receive  the  shocking  stuff; 

But  oh,  what  flattery  can  disguise  the  groan 

That  meets  the  gulp  which  sends  it  through  your  own  J 

Be  gentle,  then,  though  Art's  unsparing  rules 

Give  you  the  handling  of  her  sharpest  tools  ; 

Use  them  not  rashly, — sickness  is  enough ; 

Be  always  "  ready,"  but  be  never  "  rough." 

Of  all  the  ills  that  suffering  man  endures, 
The  largest  fraction  liberal  Nature  cures ; 
Of  those  remaining,  't  is  the  smallest  part 
Yields  to  the  efforts  of  judicious  Art; 
But  simple  Kindness,  kneeling  by  the  bed 
To  shift  the  pillow  for  the  sick  man's  head. 
Give  the  fresh  draught  to  cool  the  lips  that  burn, 
Fan  the  hot  brow,  the  weary  frame  to  turn. — 
Kindness,  untutored  by  our  grave  M.  D.'s, 
But  Nature's  graduate,  when  she  schools  to  please. 
Wins  back  more  sufferers  with  her  voice  and  smile 
Than  all  the  trumpery  in  the  druggist's  pile. 

Once  more,  be  quiet  :    coming  up  the  stair. 
Don't  be  a  plantigrade,  a  human  bear. 
But,  stealing  softly  on  the  silent  toe. 
Reach  the  sick  chamber  ere  you  're  heard  below. 


20  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Whatever  changes  there  may  greet  your  eyes, 
Let  not  your  looks  proclaim  the  least  surprise ; 
It 's  not  your  business  by  your  face  to  show 
All  that  your  patient  does  not  want  to  know; 
Nay.  use  your  optics  with  considerate  care, 
And  don't  abuse  your  privilege  to  stare. 
But  if  your  eyes  may  probe  him  overmuch, 
Beware  still  further  how  you  rudely  touch ; 
Don't  clutch  his  carpus  in  your  icy  fist, 
But  warm  your  fingers  ere  you  take  the  wrist. 
If  the  poor  victim  needs  must  be  percussed, 
Don't  make  an  anvil  of  his  aching  bust ; 
(Doctors  exist  within  a  hundred  miles 
Who  thump  a  thorax  as  they  'd  hammer  piles ;) 
If  you  must  listen  to  his  doubtful  chest, 
Catch  the  essentials,  and  ignore  the  rest. 
Spare  him  ;  the  sufferer  wants  of  you  and  art 
A  track  to  steer  by,  not  a  finished  chart. 
So  of  your  questions  :  don't  in  mercy  try 
To  pump  your  patient  absolutely  dry ; 
He  's  not  a  mollusk  squirming  in  a  dish, 
You  're  not  Agassiz,  and  he  's  not  a  fish. 
And  last,  not  least,  in  each  perplexing  case, 
Learn  the  sweet  magic  of  a  cheerful  face; 
Not  always  smiling,  but  at  least  serene. 
When  grief  and  anguish  cloud  the  anxious  scene. 
Each  look,  each  movement,  every  word  and  tone 
Should  tell  your  patient  you  are  all  his  own ; 
Not  the  mere  artist,  purchased  to  attend, 
But  the  warm,  ready,  self-forgetting  friend 
Whose  genial  visit  in  itself  combines 
The  best  of  cordials,  tonics,  anodynes. 

Such  is  the  visit  that  from  day  to  day 
Sheds  o'er  my  chamber  its  benignant  ray. 
I  give  his  health,  who  never  cared  to  claim 
Her  babbling  homage  from  the  tongue  of  Fame; 
Unmoved  by  praise,  he  stands  by  all  confest. 
The  truest,  noblest,  wisest,  kindest,  best. 

— Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR  31 


I 


The  Country  Doctor 

■* HERE'S  a  gathering  in  the  village,  that  has  never  been 
outdone 
Since  the  soldiers  took  their  muskets  to  the  war  of 
^  'sixty-one ; 

And  a  lot  of  lumber-wagons  near  the  church  upon  the  hill, 
And  a  crowd  of  country  people,  Sunday-dressed  and  very  still. 
Now  each  window  is  pre-empted  by  a  dozen  heads  or  more, 
Now  the  spacious  pews  are  crowded  from  the  pulpit  to  the 

door; 
For  with  coverlet  of  blackness  on  his  portly  figure  spread. 
Lies  the  grim  old  country  doctor,  in  a  massive  oaken  bed. 
Lies  the  fierce  old  country  doctor. 
Lies  the  kind  old  country  doctor. 
Whom  the  populace  considered  with  a  mingled  love  and  dread. 

Maybe  half  the  congregation,  now  of  great  or  little  worth. 
Found  this  watcher  waiting  for  them,  when  they  came  upon  the 

earth ; 
This  undecorated  soldier,  of  a  hard,  unequal  strife. 
Fought  in  many  stubborn  battles  with  the  foes  that  sought  their 

life. 
In  the  night-time  or  the  day-time,  he  would  rally  brave  and 

well, 
Though  the  summer  lark  was  fifing,  or  the  frozen  lances  fell ; 
Knowing  if  he  won  the  battle,  they  would  praise  their  Maker's 

name, 
Knowing  if  he  lost  the  battle,  then  the  doctor  was  to  blame. 
'T  was  the  brave  old  virtuous  doctor, 
T  was  the  good  old  faulty  doctor, 
Twas  the  faithful  country  doctor — fighting  stoutly  all  the  same. 

When  so  many  pined  in  sickness,  he  had  stood  so  strongly  by, 
Half  the  people  felt  a  notion  that  the  doctor  couldn't  die ; 


23  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

They  must  slowly  learn  the  lesson  how  to  live  from  day  to  day, 
And  have  somehow  lost  their  bearings — now  this  landmark   is 

away. 
But  perhaps  it  still  is  better  that  this  busy  life  is  done : 
He  has  seen  old  views  and  patients  disappearing  one  by  one  ; 
He  has  learned  that  Death  is  master  both  of  Science  and  of 

Art; 
He  has  done  his  duty  fairly,  and  has  acted  out  his  part. 
And  the  strong  old  country  doctor. 
And  the  weak  old  country  doctor. 
Is  entitled  to  a  furlough  for  his  brain  and  for  his  heart. 

— Will  Carleton. 


Doctors 


r  *IS  quite  the  thing  to  say  and  sing 
^       Gross  libels  on  the  doctor — 

To  picture  him  an  ogre  grim 
?*        Or  humbug-pill  concocter ; 
Yet  it's  in  quite  another  light 

My  friendly  pen  would  show  him — 
Glad  that  it  may  with  verse  repay 
Some  part  of  what  I  owe  him ! 


When  one's  all  right  he's  prone  to  spite 

The  doctor's  peaceful  mission ; 
But  when  he's  sick,  it's  loud  and  quick 

He  bawls  for  a  physician! 
With  other  things  the  doctor  brings 

Sweet  babes  our  hearts  to  soften ; 
Though  I  have  four,  I  pine  for  more — 

Good  doctor,  pray,  come  often! 

What  though  he  sees  death  and  disease 

Run  riot  all  around  him  ? 
Patient  and  true,  and  valorous,  too, — 

Such  have  I  always  found  him ! 


DOCTORS  23 

Where'er  he  goes,  he  soothes  our  woes. 

And,  when  skill  's  unavailing, 
And  death  is  near,  his  words  of  cheer 

Support  our  courage  failing. 

In  ancient  days  they  used  to  praise 

The  godlike  art  of  healing; 
An  art  that  then  engaged  all  men 

Possessed  of  sense  and  feeling; 
Why,  Raleigh — he  was  glad  to  be 

Famed  for  a  quack  elixir. 
And  Digby  sold  (as  we  are  told) 

A  charm  for  folk  love-sick,  sir! 

Napoleon  knew  a  thing  or  two, 

And  clearly  he  was  partial 
To  doctors  ;  for,  in  time  of  war, 

He  chose  one  for  a  marshal. 
In  our  great  cause  a  doctor  was 

The  first  to  pass  death's  portal. 
And  Warren's  name  at  once  became 

A  beacon,  and  immortal ! 

A  heap,  indeed,  of  what  we  read 

By  doctors  is  provided, 
For  to  those  groves  Apollo  loves 

Their  leaning  is  decided  ; 
Deny  who  may  that  Rabelais 

Is  first  in  wit  and  learning — 
And  yet  all  smile  and  marvel  while 

His  brilliant  leaves  they  're  turning. 

How  Lever's  pen  has  charmed  all  men — 

How  touching  Rab's  short  story! 
And  I  will  stake  my  all  that  Drake 

Is  still  the  schoolboy's  glory! 
A  doctor- man  it  was  began 

Great  Britain's  great  museum  ; 
The  treasures  there  are  all  so  rare, 

It  drives  me  wild  to  see  'em  I 


24  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

There's  Cuvier,  Parr,  and  Rush — they  are 

Big  monuments  to  learning  ; 
To  Mitchell's  prose  (how  smooth  it  flows  !) 

We  all  are  fondly  turning  ; 
Tomes  might  be  writ  of  that  keen  wit 

Which  Abernethy  's  famed  for — 
With  bread-crumb  pills  be  cured  the  ills 

Most  doctors  now  get  blamed  for ! 

In  modern  times  the  noble  rhymes 

Of  Holmes  (a  great  physician  !) 
Have  solace  brought  and  wisdom  taught 

To  hearts  of  all  condition. 
The  sailor  bound  for  Puget  Sound 

Finds  pleasure  still  unfailing, 
If  he  but  troll  the  barcarolle 

Old  Osborne  wrote  on  Whaling  ! 

If  there  were  need  I  could  proceed 

Ad  naus  with  this  prescription, 
But,  INTER  Nos,  a  larger  dose 

Might  give  you  fits  conniption  : 
Yet,  ere  I  end,  there's  one  dear  friend 

I'd  hold  before  these  others, 
For  he  and  I,  in  years  gone  by, 

Have  chummed  around  like  brothers. 

Together  we  have  sung  in  glee 

The  songs  old  Horace  made  for 
Our  genial  craft — together  quaffed 

What  bowls  that  doctor  paid  for  ! 
I  love  the  rest,  but  love  him  best, 

And,  were  not  times  so  pressing, 
I'd  buy  and  send — you  smile,  old  friend  ? 

Well,  then,  here  goes  my  blessing ! 

— Eugene  Field. 


DOC  SIFERS  25 


Doc    Sifers 

F  all  the  doctors  I  could  cite  you  to  in  this-here  town, 
jDoc  Sifers  is  my  favo-RiTE,  jes  take  him  up  and  down: 
'Count  in  the   Bethel   Neighberhood,  and   Rollins,  and 
Big  Bear, 
And  Sifers'  standin  's  jes  as  good  as  ary  doctor's  there ! 

There's  old  Doc  Wick,  and  Glenn,  and  Hall,  and  Wurgler,  and 

McVeigh, 
But  I'll  buck  Sifers  'ginst  'em  all  and  down  'em  any  day  ! 
Most  old  Wick  ever  knowed,  I  s'pose,  was  whisky  ! — Wurgler—- 

well, 
He  et  MORphine — ef  actions  shows  and  facts  's  reliable. 

But  Sifers — though  he  ain't  no  sot,  he's  got  his  faults ;  and  yit 
When  you  git  Sifers  onc't,  you've  got  a  doctor,  don't  fergit  1 
He  ain't  much  at  his  office,  er  his  house,  er  anywhere 
You'd  natchurly  think  certain  fer  to  ketch  the  feller  there. 

But  don't  blame  Doc:  he's  got  all  sorts  o'  cur'ous  notions — as 
The  feller  says, — his  odd-come-shorts — like  smart  men   mostly 

has : — 
He'll  more'n  like  be  potter'n  'round  the  Blacksmith  Shop  ;  er  in 
Some  back-lot,  spadin'  up  the  ground,  er  gradin'  it  agin ; 

Er  at  the  workbench,  planin'  things  ;  er  buildin'  little  traps 
To  ketch  birds ;  galvenizin'  rings ;  er  graftin'  plums,  perhaps. 
Make  anything  ! — good  as  the  best  I — a  gunstock — er  a  flute. — 
He  whittled  out  a  set  o'  chessmen  onc't  o'  laurel-root, 

Durin'  the  Army — got  his  trade  o'  surgeon  there — I  own 

Today  a  finger  ring  Doc  made  o'  sealin'-wax  and  bone ! 

An'  glued  a  fiddle  onc't  fer  me — jes'  all  so  busted  you 

'D  a-throwed  the  thing  away,  but  he  fixed  her  as  good  as  new  f 


26  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  take  Doc,  now,  in  aigger,  say,  er  cramps ;  er  rheumatiz  ;— 
And  all  afflictions  thataway,  and  he  's  the  best  they  is  ! 
Er  janders — milksick — I  don't  keer — k-yore  anything  he  tries,^ 
A  felon — er  a  frost-bit'  yeer — er  granilated  eyes. 

There  was  the  Widder  Daubenspeck  they  all  give  up  fer  dead — 
With  fits,  and  "  ligture  o'  the  neck,"  and  clean  out  of  her  head  !— 
First  had  this  doctor,  what's-his-name,  from  Puddlesburg  ;   and 

then 
This  little  red-head,   "  Burnin'   Shame,"   they  call   him — Dr 

Glenn. 

And  they  "  consulted  "  on  the  case,  and  claimed  she'd  haf  to 

die.     .     .     . 
I  jes'  was  joggin'  by  the  place,  and  heerd  her  daughter  cry. 
And  stops  and  calls  her  to  the  fence  ;  and  I-says-I,  "  Let  me 
Send    SiFERS — ^bet    you    fifteen    cents    he'll    k-yore    her !  " 

"  Well,"  says  she, 

"  Light  out!  "  she  says. — And,  lipp-tee-cut!  I  loped  in  town — 

and  rid 
'Bout  two  hours  more  to  find   him,  but   I   scored   him   when  1 

did! 
He  wuz  down  at  the  Gunsmith  Shop,  a-stuffin'  birds  !     .     .     . 

Says  he, 
"  My  sulky's  broke."     Says  1,  "  You  hop  right  on  and  ride  with 

me  !  " 

I  GOT  him  there !     .     ,     .     "  Well,  Aunty,  ten  days   k-yores 

you,"  Sifers  said, 
"  But  what's  yer  idy  linger'n' when  they  want  you  Overhead?  " 
And  there's  Dave  Banks — jes'  back  from  war  without  a  scratch — 

one  day 
Got  ketched  up  in  a  sickle-bar — a  reaper-runaway  ; — 

His  shoulders,  arms,  and  hands  and  legs  jes'  sawed  in  strips  !— 

And  Jake 
Dunn  starts  fer  Sifers, — feller  begs  to  shoot  him,  pity's-sake! 
Doc, 'course,  was  gone ;  but  he   had  penned  the  notice — "At 

Big  Bear — 
Be  back  tomorry:     Gone  to  'tend  the  Bee  Convention  there." 


TO  DR.  (AFTERWARDS  SIR  EDWARD)  WILMOT        27 

But  Jake,  he  tracked  him ! — rid  and  rode  the  whole  indurin' 

night ! 
And  'bout  the  time   the   roosters  crowed  they  both  hove  into 

sight. 
Doc  had  to  ampitate — but   'greed   to  save  Dave's  arms,  and 

said 
He  COULD  a-saved  his  legs  ef  he'd  got  there  four  hours  ahead. 

Doc's  wife's  own  mother  purt'  nigh  died  onc't   'fore  he  could 

be  found. 
And  all  the  neighbers,  fur  and  wide,  a-all  jes  chasin'  round! — 
Tel  finally, — I  had  to  laugh, — 't'uz  jes  like  Doc,  you  know, — 
Was  learnin'  fer  to  telegraph,  down  at  the  old  Dee-po. 

But  all  they're  faultin'  Sifers  fer,  they  's  none  of  'em  kin  say 
He's  biggoty,  er  keerless,  er  not  posted  anyway; 
He  ain't  built  on  the  common  plan  o'  doctors  nowadays, — 
He's  jes'  a  great  big  brainy  man — that's  where  the  trouble  lays! 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


To  Dr.   (Afterwards  Sir  Edward)  Wilmot 

WITH  doubtful  strife,  Humanity  and  Art 
For  conquest  vie  in  Wilmot's  head  and  heart. 
On  his  loved  son  Apollo  did  bestow 
The  healing  power,  and  words  to  soften  woe. 
With  sympathizing  eyes  and  tender  mind 
He  views  the  maladies  of  human-kind; 
Reprieves  the  languid  patient  from  the  grave, 
While  Pity  soothes  whom  Medicine  cannot  save ! 

— William  Duncombe. 


38  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


In  a  Dissecting  Room 


IGHTLESS  eyes  half  closed  beneath 
Long,  black  lashes  curling  yet ; 

Wavy  locks  the  pale  face  wreathe 
With  the  salty  drops  still  wet. 


Lying  there  so  silently 

Womanhood  reproachful  seems ; 
Tis  a  face  that  we  may  see 

Reappear  in  troubled  dreams. 

Lifeless,  wasted  arm  and  hand 
Stripped  of  skin  by  scalpel  keen ; 

Shining  tendons,  band  on  band 
Ligaments  and  muscles  seen. 

Wondrously  the  fingers  move, 
Answering  to  the  testing  touch 

Of  each  muscle  far  above. 

Whilst  the  learner  marvels  much 

Searcher,  would  that  thou  couldst  find 
What  mysterious  power  once  moved 

That  dead  form  !  How  vain  and  blind 
This  long  quest  of  ours  has  proved ! 

Now  the  forceps  and  the  knife 

Merciless  attack  the  face 
Eagerly  with  death  at  strife, 

Winning  by  a  swifter  pace. 

Inch  by  inch  the  clinging  skin 
With  reluctance  parting  shows 

Unknown  wonders  far  within. 

Sources  whence  expression  flows. 


ODE  TO  A  DOCTOR  29 

Tiny  threadlike  muscles  here 

Teach  the  lips  to  move  in  smiles; 
Draw  the  eyelids  tense  with  fear. 

Close  them  when  soft  sleep  beguiles. 

These  have  knit  the  brows  to  frown ; 

Those  have  taught  the  mouth  to  kiss ; 
Care  and  pain  have  oft  weighed  down 

Wrinkling  forehead's  calm  with  this 

These  once  spread  the  nostrils  wide 

When  in  anger  breath  came  fast ; 
Or  when  blew  from  ocean's  tide 

Airs  of  health  caught  ere  they  passed. 

Magic  house,  where  sometime  dwelt 

Spirit,  soul,  howe 'er  'tis  known! 
Ah,  what  thrills  thy  walls  have  felt ! 
Whither  has  thy  tenant  flown  ? 

If  this  ruined  home  appear 

Wonderful  beyond  compare. 
What  was  then  the  dweller  here 

That  could  vanish  into  air  ? 

— Dr.  William  Burt  Harlow 


Ode  to  a  Doctor 

THE  Doctor  comes,  and  quick  prescribes; 
And  then,  when  we  are  better, 
He  sends  a  bill  that  reads  like  this : 
"To  Dr.  Cureall,  Dr." 

For  when  we  're  in  the  grasp  of  Pain, 
And  he  has  come  and  knocked  her. 

We  surely  must  admit  that  we 
Are  Dr.  to  our  Dr. 

— James  G.  Burnett. 


30  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


5 


A  Ballade  of  Busy  Doctors 

'HEN  winter  pipes  in  the  poplar-tree, 
And  soles  are  shod  with  the  snow  and  sleet  — 
When  sick-room  doors  close  noiselessly, 
And  doctors  hurry  along  the  street ; 
When  the  bleak  north  winds  at  the  gables  beat, 

And  the  flaky  noon  of  the  night  is  nigh. 
And  the  reveler's  laugh  grows  obsolete, 
Then  Death,  white  Death,  is  a-driving  by. 

When  the  cowering  sinner  crooks  his  knee. 
,     At  the  cradle-side,  in  suppliance  sweet, 
And  friends  converse  in  a  minor  key. 

And  doctors  hurry  along  the  street ; 
When  Croesus  flies  to  his  country  seat. 

And  castaways  in  the  garrets  cry. 
And  in  each  house  is  a  "shape  and  a  sheet." 

Then  Death,  white  Death,  is  a-driving  by. 

When  the  blast  of  the  autumn  blinds  the  bee, 

And  the  long  rains  fall  on  the  ruined  wheat. 
When  a  glimmer  of  green  on  the  pools  we  see. 

And  doctors  hurry  along  the  street ; 
When  every  fellow  we  chance  to  meet 

Has  a  fulvous  glitter  in  either  eye, 
And  a  weary  wobble  in  both  his  feet, 

Then  Death,  white  Death,  is  a-driving  by. 

ENVOY. 

When  farmers  ride  at  a  furious  heat. 
And  doctors  hurry  along  the  street. 
With  brave  hearts  under  a  scowling  sky, 
Then  Death,  white  Death,  is  a-driving  by. 

Dr.  James  Newton  Matthews. 


MY  FIRST  PATIENT  31 


My  First  Patient 

'HAT  shall  I  say,  when  all  my  friends  tonight 
Have  blazed  in  such  a  galaxy  of  light; 
How  can  I  sing,  when  all  around  me  here 
Speaks   of    naught  else  than  Pittsburg's  jovial 
cheer ; 
What  shall  I  do  to  raise  my  name  to  glory, — 
With  your  permission,  may  I  tell  a  story? 

'Tis  not  a  story  such  as  doctors  tell 

A  dying  patient,  that  he  '11  soon  "get  well  " 

If  he,  all  medication  being  vain, 

Will  seek  the  balmy  air  of  distant  plain. 

Nor  such  an  one,  when  on  a  rainy  night, 

The  doorbell 's  rung  by  some  unhappy  wight, 

Who  cries  aloud,  "  Sir,  is  the  doctor  in?  " 

To  tell  a  story  then  is  not  a  sin. 

This  story  then,  believe  me,  is  a  true  one. 

And  happened  to  myself  some  years  ago ; 
It  therefore  is,  most  certainly  a  new  one, 

I  never  having  mentioned  it  to  friend  or  foe. 
'Twas  when  I,  fresh  from  halls  of  learning, 

Believed  myself  a  great  receptacle  of  knowledge. 
As  most  young  men,  whose  eager  minds  are  burning 

With  lore  all  medical,  received  at  college. 
I  thought  that  I  could  all  diseases  cure. 

Could  dish  out  medicines  for  aches  and  ills. 
That  no  one  need  a  single  pang  endure 

If  I  stood  by  with  homoeopathic  pills. 

It  was  in  Philadelphia,  city  fair, 

I  lectured  once  and  practiced  physics  there, 

Sowed  my  wild  oats,  from  which,  dear  me,  I  'm  reaping 

Disastrous  fruits,  more  bitter  for  their  keeping. 


82  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

'Twas  there  a  student  in  long  days  gone  by, 
Those  days  of  pleasant  memory,  when  I 
Heard  from  dear  Matthew's  lips,  the  truths  that  fell 
Of  our  great  system,  which  he  knew  so  well, 
Where  Gardner  taught  us  on  a  simple  plan. 
"  The  noblest  study  of  mankind  is  man," 
Unfolded  to  our  wondering  gaze  each  hour, 
The  last  great  work  of  God's  creative  power. 
Go,  search  your  colleges  for  learned  men, 

Who  teach  anatomy  to  students  eager. 
List  well  to  their  instruction  and  e  'en  then 

To  Gardner's  'twill  be  commonplace  and  meager. 

There  gentle  Loomis  toiled  from  day  to  day, 
•   While  swept  the  golden  sands  of  life  away, 
Caught  the  last  twining  of  the  silver  cord. 
To  pour  out  knowledge  from  his  ample  hoard. 
Ah !  let  us  pause  and  drop  a  silent  tear, 
To  those  fond  memories  we  hold  so  dear. 
Let  recollection  tune  our  hearts  once  more. 
To  friends  departed  whom  we  knew  of  yore. 

But  Williamson  and  Hemple  stand  to  view, 
And,  oh  my  prophetic  soul,  MY  UNCLE !  too. 

But  there  were  fellow-students  also  there 

Who  now  have  grown  in  name  and  reputation, 
Have  married  ladies  who  are  wonderous  fair. 
And  done  "  right  nobly,"  every  man  his  share. 
To  medicate  the  nation, 

I  have  my  eye  on  one,  whom  I  could  name. 
Who  'd  slip  a  quiz  at  any  time  to  go 

And  exercise  the  muscles  of  his  frame. 
By  rolling  ten-pins  in  a  street  below. 

I  see  another,  who  on  clinic-days  would  be 
So  weary  with  his  labors  and  so  pale. 

That  he  would  fain  entice  a  company 
To  feed  on  oysters  and  to  drink  pale  ale. 


MY  FIRST  PATIENT  33 

But  pshaw ;  I  see  the  blushes  on  these  doctors'  faces, 
But  worse  than  all !  their  ladies  make  grimaces. 
Therefore,  though  every  word  of  this  is  truth, 
I  '11  not  repeat  these  memories  of  my  youth. 

Well,  as  I  said — excuse  my  being  prosy, 
I  '11  hurry  through  this  little  bit  of  rhyme, 

The  older  gentlemen  are  growing  dozy. 
And  think  I  'm  wasting  very  precious  time. 

In  that  same  city  fair,  of  which  I  tell. 
Amid  the  cares  of  life  there  used  to  dwell 
A  lady  of  the  far-famed  Emerald  Isle, 
Rheumatic  and  dyspeptic,  full  of  bile, 
"  Cross  as  two  sticks,"  and  with  a  temper  sour, 
The  doctor  having  tested  well  the  power 
Of  senna  and  of  salts,  of  pills  and  blisters, 
Salves,  plasters,  chologogues  and  clysters, 
To  kill  or  cure  her — but  had  been  defeated — 
By  strength  of  constitution  being  cheated. 

She  sent  for  me  in  haste  to  come  and  see, 
What  her  condition  for  a  cure  might  be. 
Dear  me  I  a  patient — what  a  happy  tone, 
To  have  a  patient  and  one  all  my  own — 
To  have  a  patient  and  myself  be  fee  'd. 
Raised  expectations  very  high  indeed — 
I  saw  a  practice  growing  from  the  seed. 

I  tried  to  don  a  very  learned  look, 

Placed  'neath  my  arm  a  Symptom-Codex  book, 

(A  fashion  which  in  many  cities  then 

Was  followed  by  most  scientific  men. 

But  which,  adopted  in  New  York  would  be 

Considered  proof  of  insufficiency) . 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  December  day, 

And  as  I  tramped  the  hard  and  frozen  ground, 
The  winter  wind  with  icicles  at  play. 

Strewed  glittering  fragments  everywhere  around. 

6-8     • 


34  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

I  reached  the  house  In  expectation  rare, 

And  found  the  patient  seated  on  a  stool, 
From  which  she  turned  a  concentrated  stare. 
As  though  I  'd  been  a  thief,  a  knave,  or  fool. 
I  drew  my  chair  quite  gently  to  her  side, 
And  to  her  wrist  my  finger  I  applied, 
Counted  her  pulse,  and  with  a  cheerful  air, 
Said — quite  professionally — "  Hem  !  quite  fair!  " 

In  soothing  accents  then  the  dame  I  asked, 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  inspect  your  tongue  ?  " 
She  blurted  out,  not  liking  to  be  tasked, 

"  Arrah !  me  darlint,  but  you  'r  moighty  young — 
Oive  got  a  misery  in  me  side,  och !  dear, 
Its  throubled  me  for  over  sixteen  year ; 
Cure  me  o'  that,  me  darling  honey, 
Ye  '11  get  a  dollar  o'  the  best  of  money." 

I  asked  each  symptom  and  observed  each  look. 

Wrote  them  "  secundum  artem  "  in  my  book, 

Talked  more  about  her  rheums  and  aches  and  pains. 

Than  Allen's  Cyclopasdia  contains, 

And  then  requested  as  simple  boon, 

That  she  would  bring  a  tumbler  and  a  spoon. 


There's  not  a  lady  or  a  doctor  here 

Who  does  not  know  these  philosophic  facts, 
Which  oftentimes  are  suddenly  made  clear. 

That  heat  expands  and  cold  contracts ; 
That  if  we  bring  a  glass,  a  jug,  or  pot 
From  freezing  temperature  to  air  that's  hot. 
Then  the  attraction  called  "  cohesive  "  ceases. 
And  ten  to  one,  the  glass  will  split  to  pieces. 

Now  this  old  lady's  crockery  was  kept 
In  a  cold  hall  adjoining  where  she  slept, 
And  as  she  brought  the  tumbler  to  her  seat. 
She  suddenly  exposed  it  to  the  heat. 


MY  FIRST  PATIENT  35 

I  drew  my  tiny  vial  from  its  place, 
And  counting,  dropped — one,  two,  three,  four, 

When  suddenly,  oh !  most  unlucky  case. 
The  tumbler  split,  and  fell  upon  the  floor. 

The  Irish  dame  grew  purple  with  her  ire. 
She  started  from  her  seat  fornenst  the  fire. 
Seized  with  a  will  the  poker  from  its  place. 
And  screamed,  while  shaking  it  before  my  face, 
"  Out  of  me  house  ye  murtherin'  villain ! 
Is  it  meself  that  ye  'd  be  killin'  I 
Them  pizen  drops  that  burst  yon  glass  in  twain 
Would  kill  me  ere  they  aised  me  pain. 
Och !  'tis  a  mercy  that  the  stuff  was  spilt 
Afore  I  was  blowed  up  and  kilt." 

How,  when,  or  where  I  made  retreat. 

I  do  not  now  remember, 
I  found  myself  far  up  the  street, 

That  day  in  cold  December. 

I  felt  just  as  I  did  one  day. 

When  my  young  love  was  jilted ; 
I  felt — as  western  people  say — - 

Expressive  adverb — "  wilted." 

But  every  rose  will  have  its  thorn. 

And  every  thorn  its  rose. 
There 's  cob  in  every  ear  of  corn. 

There  's  nightmare  in  the  doze. 

Our  lives,  we  know,  are  all  made  up 

Of  pleasure  and  of  pain  ; 
But  gall  and  wormwood  in  the  cup. 

May  turn  to  sweets  again. 

And  so,  what  then  o  'erwttelmed  me  quite 

And  gave  my  pride  a  fall, 
I  here  with  smiles  rehearse  tonight 

A  little  joke — that 's  all. 

— Dr.  William  Tod  Helmuth. 


36  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


\ 


i 


Morituri  Salutamus 

HE  wild-eyed  March  has  come  again 
'^      With  frightened  face  and  flying  feet, 
And  hands  just  loosed  fronn  winter's  chain 
Outstretched  the  reluctant  spring  to  greet. 


From  her  bleak  hills  across  the  lea. 

She  sweeps  with  tresses  backward  blown. 
And  far  out  on  the  homeless  sea 

The  maddened  billows  hear  her  moan. 

The  leaves  are  whirled  in  eddying  drifts 
Or  hunted  down  the  barren  wold, 

Where  timidly  the  crocus  lifts 
Her  shaken  cap  of  green  and  gold. 

Above  the  dark  pool's  ruffled  breast 
The  swallow  skims  on  glancing  wing, 

And  from  yon  brown  elm's  towering  crest 
I  hear  the  amorous  mock-bird  sing. 

It  leans  above  the  gabled  roof 
That  crowns  the  long  hill's  fallow  side, 

A  summer  shelter,  shower  proof 
When  June  shall  flaunt  her  leafy  pride  ; 

But  naked  yet,  in  wintry  guise 
Its  trailing  masses  sweep  the  ground. 

The  bare  trunk  lifted  to  the  skies 
A  mark  for  many  a  league  around. 

His  sire  had  planted  it  when  first 
He  made  this  woodland  wild  his  own ; 

Beneath  its  boughs  his  youth  was  nursed. 
And  with  its  growth  himself  had  grown 


MORITURI  SALUTAMUS  37 

To  manhood,  and  to  riper  years ; 

One  on  whom  God  had  set  his  sign. 
The  well-beloved  of  all  his  peers, 

But  by  the  poor  deemed  half  divine. 

The  good  old  Doctor!  mild  as  wise. 

With  pleasant  jest  for  all  he  met, 
The  kindly  humor  in  his  eyes 

Flashed  through  the  lips  so  gravely  sweet. 

Firm  hand,  big  heart  and  ample  brain 

Toughened  by  battles  fought  and  won, 
Scarred  with  the  wind  and  winter  rain. 

And  bronzed  by  many  a  summer  sun. 

Not  largely  learned  in  useless  lore, 

Nor  dully  studious  overmuch. 
Saved  by  the  sturdy  wit  he  bore 

From  making  other's  wit  his  crutch. 

But  many  a  childing  mother  owned 

His  ready  skill,  and  many  a  wife 
Whose  hope  or  stay  in  anguish  groaned. 

Owed  to  his  care  some  precious  life. 

All  perilous  soundings  on  his  chart 

Were  pricked  by  faithful  memory ; 
He  knew  the  limits  of  his  art 

As  seamen  know  the  unfathomed  sea. 

And  every  season  when  to  sow 

Each  several  seed  in  order  due. 
And  of  the  wilding  weeds  that  grow 

The  hidden  use  of  each  he  knew. 

All  earnest  faith  he  held  as  good. 

The  path  of  honor  plain  and  broad ; 
His  simple  creed,  best  understood. 

Was  duty — unto  man  and  God. 


134347 


38  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Not  passing  with  averted  f^re 
The  wayfarer  fallen  by  the  road. 

Naked  and  bruised,  and  in  disgrace,. 
Fainting  beneath  life's  bitter  load. 

Into  his  wounds  the  oil  he  poured. 
Gave  food  and  wine  for  benison, 

Nor,  though  his  pouch  was  illy  stored. 
Forgot  the  pence  to  help  him  on. 

When  civic  strife  ran  fierce  and  high. 
His  was  the  storm-assuaging  speech 

That  bade  the  wordy  tumult  die 
And  linked  the  neighbors,  each  to  each. 

So,  walking  in  this  narrow  round 
Of  homliest  cares  and  use,  at  best, 

His  days,  with  simple  pleasures  crowned. 
Had  moved  him  to  his  honored  rest; 

When  suddenly  a  darkness  fell. 
Black  as  the  pall  of  thickest  night. 

As  though  some  fiend  from  nether  hell 
Had  come  between  us  and  God's  light. 

From  both  its  brooding  pinions  oozed 
The  ghastly  dews  of  pestilence, 

A  stealthy  horror  that  confused 
The  brain  and  palsied  every  sense. 

Where  'er  the  lowering  tempest  broke, 
Terror  and  doom  were  on  the  wind ; 

The  crowded  cities  felt  the  stroke 
And  want  and  famine  stalked  behind. 

As  rose  the  long,  wild  wall  of  woe 
By  lake  and  river,  plain  and  h:;i, 

The  Yellow  Death  swept  on,  ana  lo! 
A  land  of  corpses,  stark  and  chill. 


MORITURI  SALUTAMUS  39 

Then,  at  the  summons,  stepping  down, 
By  never  one  selfish  thought  delayed, 

Where,  racked  with  pain,  the  stricken  town 
Stretched  forth  its  fevered  hands  for  aid, 

Or  where,  witn  anguish  looking  up. 

The  cowering  hamlet,  kneeling  there 
Drank  to  the  dregs  the  bitter  cup 

That  might  not  pass  for  any  prayer. 

He  moved,  like  some  supernal  guest, 
With  healings  on  his  wings,  and  balm 

To  bring  the  tortured  body  rest, 
And  to  the  spirit  whisper  calm. 

Where  Misery  crouched  in  darkest  den. 

With  foulest  squalor  grim  and  gaunt. 
He  only  saw  his  fellow-men 

And  knew  the  largest  claim  in  want. 

Felt  the  fierce  poison  in  his  vein. 

Saw  0  'er  his  head  the  impending  sword 
And.  fronting  fate  in  high  disdain, 

Fell  at  his  post  without  a  word. 

****** 

When  winter  snows  had  purged  the  lands, 
And  bleak  December  winds  were  shrill. 

They  bore  him  back  with  reverent  hands, 
To  his  old  home  upon  the  hill. 

The  spring  will  dress  his  narrow  bed 
With  all  the  wild  flowers  that  he  loved. 

And  round  his  rest  a  fragrance  shed. 
Pure  as  that  virtue  he  approved ; 

And  fainting  in  the  dusky  tree 
That  rocks  above  his  dreamless  sleep. 

With  drowsy  hum  of  murmurous  bee, 
A  solemn  hush  will  summer  keep ; 


40  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

The  autumn  feed  with  thousand  rills 
The  droatn  or  wiilow-margined  streams, 

And  touch  the  sadness  of  the  hills 
With  crimson  and  with  golden  gleams ; 

But,  evermore,  all  hours  that  bring 
Or  summer  light,  or  winter  gloom. 

Will  pass  by  on  unheeded  wing. 

Nor  pause  to  note  his  nameless  tomb. 

What  needs  his  name  ?  or  any  name 
Of  those  brave  hearts  that  with  him  died? 

They  battled  not  for  fee  or  fame. 
Our  loyal  brothers,  true  and  tried. 

Enough  if  standing  by  his  grave 
In  some  far  twilight's  fading  day. 

One  tender  soul  he  died  to  save. 
Remembering  all  he  was,  shall  say: 

•'  Here  sleeps  beneath  his  native  soil. 
Who  since  his  manhood's  work  began, 

Gave  all  his  days  of  useful  toil 
And,  at  the  last,  his  life  for  man." 

— Dr.  J.  Dickson  Bruns 


The  Remedy  Worse  than  the  Disease 

I  SENT  for  Radcliffe ;  was  so  ill 
That  other  doctors  gave  me  over ; 
He  felt  my  pulse,  prescribed  a  pill. 
And  I  was  likely  to  recover. 

But,  when  the  wit  began  to  wheeze. 
And  wine  had  warmed  the  politician. 

Cur  'd  yesterday  of  my  disease, 
I  died  last  night  of  my  physician. 

— Matthew  Prior. 


MARSHAL  SAXE  AND  HIS  PHYSICIAN  41 


Marshal  Saxe  and  His  Physician 


r"~'EVER  'S  a  most  audacious  varlet; — 
Now  in  a  general's  face  he  shakes 
His  all-defying  fist,  and  makes 
His  visage  like  his  jacket — scarlet; 
Now  o'er  surrounding  guards  he  throws 
A  summerset,  and  never  squeaks 
"An'  please  your  Majesty,"  but  tweaks 
The  Lord's  anointed  by  the  nose. 

With  his  inflammatory  finger, 

(Much  like  the  heater  of  an  urn) 
He  makes  the  pulses  boil  and  burn, 
Puts  fur  upon  the  tongue,  (not  ermine,) 
And  leaves  his  prey  to  die  or  linger, 
Just  as  the  doctors  may  determine. 

Though  this  disorder  sometimes  seems 

Mild  and  benignant. 
It  interferes  so  with  our  schemes. 
Imparting  to  our  heads  a  dizziness. 
Just  when  we  want  them  clear  for  business, 

That  it  may  well  be  termed  malignant. 

Of  these  inopportune  attacks, 
One  fiercely  fell  on  Marshal  Saxe, 
Just  as  his  troops  had  opened  trenches 

Before  a  fortress ;  (what  a  pity  1) 
Not  only  did  it  make  his  heart  ache 
To  be  condemned  to  pill,  cathartic. 
Bolus,  and  blister,  drugs  and  drenches. 
But  shocked  his  military  notions, 
To  make  him  take  unwished-for  potions, 

Instead  of  taking,  as  he  wished — the  city. 


42  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Senac,  however,  his  physician, 
Soon  gave  our  invalid  permission 

To  be  coached  out  an  easy  distance 
First  stipulating  one  condition — 
That  whatsoe'er  the  when  and  where. 
The  Doctor  should  be  then  and  there, 
Lest  any  syncope,  relapse. 
Or  other  unforseen  mishaps. 

Should  call  for  medical  assistance. 

Saxe  gives  consent  with  all  his  heart. 

Orders  the  carriage  in  a  minute. 

Whispers  the  coachman — mounts  within  it, 
Senac  the  same,  and  off  they  start, 
Joking,  smiling,  time  beguiling. 

In  a  facetious  tete-a-tete. — 
The  subject  of  their  mutual  chatter  is 

Nothing  to  us ; — enough  to  state 
That  Marshal  Saxe  at  length  got  out 
To  reconnoitre  a  redoubt, 
Projecting  from  a  range  of  batteries. 

Left  in  the  carriage,  our  physician. 
By  no  means  relished  his  position. 
When  he  discovered  they  had  got 
Nearly  within  half  cannon  shot ; 
Wherefore  he  bawled,  with  fear  half  melted, 

"  For  God's  sake  move  me  from  this  spot! — ■ 
Doubtless  they've  noticed  our  approach, 
And,  when  they  recognize  your  coach. 
Shan't  I  be  fired  at,  peppered,  pelted, 
(When  I  can  neither  fly  nor  hide) 

From  some  of  yonder  bristling  masses?" 
"  It's  not  unlikely,"  Saxe  replied  ; 
"  And  war  I  know  is  not  your  trade, 
So  if  you  feel  the  least  afraid. 

Pull  up  the  glasses !  " 

— Horace  Smith. 


A  QUANDARY  43 


A  Quandary 

^   DO  NOT  know  your  Doctor  Holmes; 

1  )  What  has  he  published?  "  asks  my  friend,  M.  D. 
^     "  What  is  his  specialty  ?  " 

-  ■  "Ah,  yes,  of  course,"  say  I, 
"  Most  surely,  why, 
He  's  written  tomes  and  tomes 
On    Snakes — and   Teas — and    Breakfasts, — don't  you 

know?  " 
•'  Oh  !  "  says  my  friend,  "  Yes,  Oh  1 
No  doubt  some  dietetic  treatises. 
With  alcohol  for  target.     These  it  is." 

"  Nay  that  is  not  the  kind  of  evils 

The  doctor  deals  with  ;  he  prescribes 

A  tonic  for  the  mind. 

To  cure  blue  devils, 

With  frequent  diatribes 

On  man  and  womankind." 

"  Humph!     A  mind-cure  fanatic,"  says  M.  D. 

"  Excuse  me,  if  you  please, 

I  '11  none  of  him."     With  that,  you  see. 

He  left  me  blinking; 

And  now,  here  seated  in  my  study  at  my  ease, 

I'm  quietly  thinking. 

Pray,  doctor,  answer  me  a  word ; 

Shakespeare  and  Keats,  't  is  true. 

Are  thy  familiars.     Hast  thou  haply  heard, — 

Pardon  the  question, — of  one  Dr.  Tait? 

Canst  thou  expatiate 

On  Dr.  Lister's  antiseptics? 

Or  prate  of  blisters  and  the  skeptics, — 

The  modern  crew 

Who  hold  the  modern  view? 


44  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Thy  honest  pardon  grant, 

Dear  doctor,  for  't  is  so  I  ask  it  thee ; 

Thy  sturdy  blows 

For  reason  against  can'c 

In  followers  of  every  "  opathy  " 

All  the  world  knows 

(All  save  M.  D.). 

Now  when,  for  various  ills, 

I  take  my  pills, 

Or  squills, 

Or  ipecac,  or  gall, 

I  know  't  is  thou  hast  made  my  dose  so  small. 

Not  doubting  Nature  will  perform  her  share 

The  breaches  to  repair. 

That  thou  art  learned  in  the  lore 

Of  thy  profession 

I  make  thee  full  confession. 

Only,  when  questioned  by  M.  D., 

I  quite  forgot. 

In  my  confusions. 

Thy  "  Homeopathy 

And  Like  Delusions"; 

And  recollected  not 

Thy  "Currents"  and  thy  "  Border  Lines"; 

Though  all  thy  verse 

My  memory  could  rehearse 

And  many  a  tale  came  back  by  good,  sure  signs. 


Therefore,  I  ask  thy  pardon  here. 

With  heart  sincere ; 

And  then,  too,  as  I  write. 

Thy  good  physicians  from  thy  volumes  rise 

And  chide  me  for  despite. 

Than  they  are  scarce  more  wise 

The  great  "  Professor  "  and  the  "  Autocrat." 

Yet,  for  all  that, 

I  boldly  dare  affirm. 

Not  Koch,  nor  Gross,  nor  Frltzsch, 

Hitzig,  nor  Sims,  nor  Brown-Sequard, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  HARD  CASE  45 

Bacilllc  germ, 

The  Itch ! 

Transfusion,  nor  old  Dr.  Jenner's  scar. 

Holds  thee  in  thrall 

Like  those  fair  theories  of  good  John  Brown — 

Thy  prototype  in  Scottish  garb — 

On  dogs  and  human  fry. 

Pray,  in  thy  list  of  volumes  medical. 

Which  dost  thou  most  take  down? 

Which  most  attracts  thine  eye? 

How  rank'st  thou  "  Marjorie"? 

And  how  dear  "  Rab"? 

In  one  word,  understand, 

Lie  they  not  dogs-eared  on  thine  escritoire. 

While  Virchow  is  no  more 

Than  honored  with  a  station  near  thy  hand  ? 

Ah,  scribbling  doctor,  mine, 

What  better  could  a  bard  inherit 

Than  thy  pen's  power? 

What  could  a  healer  do  one-half  so  fine 

As  bear  thy  cheerful,  kindly  spirit 

Where  Pain  rules  his  dark  hour? 

— George  Herbert  Stockbridge. 


The  Doctor's  Hard  Case 

FROM    AMEDEE    LATOUR. 

UNSUCCESSFUL,  full  of  learning. 
He  will  die  for  want  of  bread, 
li  successful,  full  of  earning. 
He  will  die  of  work  instead. 

— William  E.  A.  Axon, 


46  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Great  Expectations  of  the  House  of  Dock 

IX  generations  down  our  line 
The  name  of  Dickory  ran, 
|And  everybody  understood 
'Twas  part  of  heaven's  plan, 
That  Dickory  the  seventh  should  be, 
A  very  famous  man. 

Indeed,  the  fortune-tellers  all 
Declared  'twas  heaven's  design. 

That  Dickory  the  seventh  should  be 
A  something  quite  divine, — 

The  flower  of  all  the  family. 
The  glory  of  the  line. 

The  men  kept  talking  at  their  work, 

The  women  at  their  tea, 
Of  what  a  wondrous  genius 

This  Dickory  would  be  ; 
But  how  his  wit  would  show  itself 

No  two  could  quite  agree. 

Some  looked  to  see  upon  the  world 

A  mighty  warrior  rise. 
And  some  a  President,  and  some 

A  statesman  high  and  wise, 
And  some  a  great  discoverer 

With  telescopic  eyes. 

Some  thought  another  Cicero 
Would  rouse  the  patriot's  rage, 

Some  that  a  second  Livius 
Would  paint  the  glowing  page : 

But  no  one  doubted  when  he  came 
Would  come  the  golden  age. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  OE  THE  HOUSE  OF  DOCK    47 

What  wonder  then  my  grandslre's  house 

Was  crowded  night  and  day  ? 
What  wonder  smiling  faces  came 

And  sad  ones  went  away, 
Until  each  night  a  funeral  seemed, 

Each  morn  a  wedding  gay  ? 

They  brought  their  daughters,  young  and  old, 

Oh,  what  a  sight  to  see  1 
For  some  were  very  tall  and  fine, 

And  some  were  short  and  wee. 
And  some  were  very  pale  and  lean, 

Some  fat  as  they  could  be. 

Through  what  a  gushing  sea  of  love 

My  sire  (who  was  no  saint) , 
Now  gambolled  on  from  boy  to  man, — 

Ah  heaven,  could  I  but  paint! 
But  soon  as  I  attempt  the  tale 

It  always  makes  me  faint. 

What  wonder  any  maid  were  fain 

To  mother  such  a  son, 
Whose  greatness  was  already  fixed 

Before  the  marriage  done  ? 
Of  whom  it  might  be  said,  even  then. 

Life's  battle  was  half  won? 

And  so  they  laid  their  siege  at  him 

Who  was  to  be  my  sire : 
O  Lord,  what  quarrels  now  ensued ! 

What  sparks  were  fanned  to  fire  ! 
The  Thomsons  could  not  see  the  Browns, 

The  Gardlners  paled  with  Ire. 

The  Fergusons  denounced  the  Frys, 

The  Smiths  defied  the  Pooles, 
The  haughty  Henrys  vowed  the  Jacks 
Were  but  the  Ames's  tools ; 


48  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

The  noble  Bloods  looked  on  and  said, 
"  Oh,  what  a  pack  of  fools  I  " 

And  so  month  after  nnonth  rolled  on 

The  noisy  ball  of  strife ; 
A  hundred  reputations  failed, 

Ten  fortunes  and  one  life, 
Till  finally  the  die  was  cast, — 

My  father  chose  a  wife. 

And  now  another  year  rolls  round 

Upon  the  house  of  Dock: 
But  what  is  this  unwonted  stir  ? 

And  what  is  all  this  talk? 
Who  runs  so  swift  into  the  night? 

'Tis  after  twelve  o'clock. 

Why  is  the  mansion  all  alight  ? 

Who  knocks  upon  the  door  ? 
'Tis  he  who  ran  into  the  night. 

And  with  him  are  two  more : 
One  is  the  famous  Doctor  Searle, 

The  other,  Dr.  Gore. 

I  thought  I  heard  a  little  groan, — 

But  no,  it  cannot  be, 
For  look !  within  the  study  there 

My  grandsire  full  of  glee, 
Who  even  now  in  fancy  trots 

Young  Dickory  on  his  knee ! 

His  face  is  beaming  with  delight. 

His  lips  benignly  curl. 
When  lo,  with  coat-tails  flying  straight, 

In  plunges  Doctor  Searle  ; 
He  tries  to  speak,  but  only  gasps — 

"MY  GOD!  IT  IS  A  GIRL!" 

— Henry  Ames  Blood. 


MINERVA  MEDICA  49 


Minerva  Medica 

OOD  Chairman,  Brothers,  Friends,  and  Guests, — all  ye 

who  come  with  praise 
[To  honor  for  our  ancient  guild  a  life  of  blameless  days, 
6  If  from  the  well-worn  road  of  toil  I  step  aside  to  find 
A  poet's  roses  for  the  wreath  your  kindly  wishes  bind, 
Be  certain  that  their  fragrance  types,  amid  your  laurel  leaves, 
The  gentle  love  a  tender  heart  in  duty's  chaplet  weaves. 
I  can't  exactly  set  the  date, — the  Chairman  he  will  know, — 
But  it  was  on  a  chilly  night,  some  month  or  two  ago. 
Within,  the  back-log  warmed  my  toes  ;  without,  the  frozen  rain. 
Storm-driven  by  the  angry  wind,  clashed  on  my  window-pane. 
I  lit  a  pipe,  stirred  up  the  fire,  and,  dry  with  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge. 
Plunged  headlong  in  an  essay  by  a  Fellow  of  the  College. 
But,  sir,  I  've  often  seen  of  late  that  this  especial  thirst 
Is  not  of  all  its  varied  forms  the  keenest  nor  the  worst. 
At  all  events,  that  gentleman — that  pleasant  College  Fellow — 
He  must  have  been  of  all  of  us  the  juiciest  and  most  mellow. 
You  ask  his  name,  degree,  and  fame;  you  want  to  know  that 

rare  man  ? 
It  wasn't  you, — nor   you, — nor  you, — no,  sir,   't  was  not  the 

Chairman ! 
For  minutes  ten   I   drank  of  him ;  quenched  was   my  ardent 

thirst ; 
Another  minute,  and  my  veins  with  knowledge,  sir,  had  burst; 
A  moment  more,  my  head  fell  back,  my  lazy  eyelids  closed. 
And  on  my  lap  that  Fellow's  book  at  equal  peace  reposed. 
Then  I  remember  me  the  night  that  essay  first  was  read. 
And  how  we  thought  it  couldn't  all  have  come  from  one  man's 

head. 
At  nine  the  College  heard  a  snore   and  saw  the  Chairman 

start, — 
A  snore  as  of  an  actor  shy  rehearsing  for  his  part. 

5— t 


80  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

At  ten,  a  shameless  chorus  around  the  hall  had  run, 

The  Chairman  dreamed  a  feeble  joke,  and  said  the  noes  had 

won. 
At  twelve  the  Treasurer  fell  asleep,  the  wakeful  Censors  slum- 
bered, 
The  Secretary's  minutes  grew  to  hours  quite  unnumbered. 
At  six  A.  M.  that  Fellow  paused,  perchance  a  page  to  turn. 
And  up  I  got,  and  cried,  "  1  move  the  College  do  adjourn!  " 
They  didn't,  sir;  they  sat  all  day.     It  made  my  flesh  to  creep. 
All  night  they  sat; — that  couldn't  be.     Goodness !  was  I  asleep? 
Was  I  asleep?     With  less  effect  that  Fellow  might  have  tried 
Codeia,  Morphia,  Urethan,  Chloral,  Paraldehyde. 
In  vain  my  servant  called  aloud,  "  Sir,  here's  a  solemn  letter 
To  say  they  want  a  song  from  you,  for  lack  of  some  one  better. 
The  Chairman  says  his  man  will  wait,  while  you  sit  down  and 

write ; 
He  says  he's  not  in  any  haste, — and  make  it  something  light ; 
He  says  you  needn't  vex  yourself  to  try  to  be  effulgent. 
Because,  he  says,  champagne  enough  will  keep  them  all  indul- 
gent." 
I  slept — at  least  I  think  I  slept — an  hour  by  estimation. 
But  if  I  slept,  I  must  have  had  unconscious  cerebration. 
For  on  my  desk,  the  morrow  morn,  I  found  this  ordered  verse; 
Pray  take  it  as  you  take  your  wife, — "  for  better  or  for  worse." 

A  golden  wedding :  fifty  earnest  years 

This  spring-tide  day  from  that  do  sadly  part. 

When,  'mid  a  learned  throng,  one  shy,  grave  lad, 
Half  conscious,  won  the  Mistress  of  our  Art. 

Still  at  his  side  the  tranquil  goddess  stood. 
Unseen  of  men,  and  claimed  the  student  boy ; 

Touched  with  her  cool,  sweet  lips  his  ruddy  cheek. 
And  bade  him  follow  her  through  grief  and  joy. 

"  Be  mine,"  she  whispered  in  his  startled  ear, 
"  Be  mine  today,  as  Pare  once  was  mine; 

Like  Hunter  mine,  and  all  who  nobly  won 
The  fadeless  honors  of  that  shining  line. 


MINERVA  MEDICA  51 

"  Be  mine."  she  said.  "  the  calm  of  honest  eyes, 
The  steadfast  forehead,  and  the  constant  soul. 

Mine  the  firm  heart  on  simple  duty  bent, 
And  mine  the  manly  gift  of  self-control. 

"  Not  in  my  service  is  the  harvest  won 
That  gilds  the  child  of  barter  and  of  trade 

That  steady  hand,  that  ever-pitying  touch, 
Not  in  my  helping  shall  be  thus  repaid. 

"  But  I  will  take  you  where  the  great  have  gone. 

And  I  will  set  your  feet  in  honor's  ways ; 
Friends  I  will  give,  and  length  of  crowded  years. 

And  crown  your  manhood  with  a  nation's  praise. 

"  These  will  I  give,  and  more ;  the  poor  man's  home. 

The  anguished  sufferer  in  the  clutch  of  pain. 
The  camp,  the  field,  the  long,  sad,  waiting  ward, 

Watch  for  your  kindly  face,  nor  watch  in  vain ; 

"  For,  as  the  sculptor  years  shall  chisel  deep 
The  lines  of  pity  'neath  the  brow  of  thought. 

Below  your  whitening  hair  the  hurt  shall  read 

How  well  you  learned  what  I  my  best  have  taught." 

The  busy  footsteps  of  your  toiling  stand 

Upon  the  noisy  century's  sharp  divide. 
And  at  your  side,  tonight,  I  see  her  still, 

The  gracious  woman,  strong  and  tender-eyed. 

O  stately  Mistress  of  our  sacred  Art, 

Changeless  and  beautiful  and  wise  and  brave. 

Full  fifty  years  have  gone  since  first  your  lips 
To  noblest  uses  pledged  that  forehead  grave. 

As  round  the  board  our  merry  glasses  rang. 

His  golden-wedding  chimes  I  heard  tonight; 
We  know  its  offspring;  lo,  from  sea  to  sea 

His  pupil  children  bless  his  living  light. 


52  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

What  be  the  marriage-gifts  that  we  can  give  ? 

What  lacks  he  that  on  well-used  years  attends  ? 
All  that  we  have  to  give  are  his  today, — 

Love,  honor,  and  obedience,  troops  of  friends. 

— Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell. 


Doctor  Munroe 

EAR  Doctor,  be  clever,  an'  fling  aff  your  beaver, 
Come,  bleed  me  an'  blister  me,  dinna  be  slow; 
'I   'm   sick,    I   'm    exhausted,    my   prospects  are 
blasted. 

An'  a'  driven  heels  o'er  head,  Doctor  Munroe!" 
"  Be  patient,  dear  fellow,  you  foster  your  fever; 

Pray,  what's  the  misfortune  that  troubles  you  so?" 
"O,  Doctor!  I  'm  ruin'd,  I  'm  ruin'd  forever — 
My  lass  has  forsaken  me,  Doctor  Munroe! 

"  I  meant  to  have  married,  an'  tasted  the  pleasures. 

The  sweets,  the  enjoyments  from  wedlock  that  flow; 
But  she  's  ta'en  another,  an'  broken  my  measures, 

An'  fairly  dumfounder'd  me,  Doctor  Munroe ! 
I  'm  fool'd,  I  am  dover'd  as  dead  as  a  herring — 

Good  sir,  you  're  a  man  of  compassion,  I  know ; 
Come,  bleed  me  to  death,  then,  unflinching,  unerring, 

Or  grant  me  some  poison,  dear  Doctor  Munroe! " 

The  Doctor  he  flang  aff  his  big-coat  an'  beaver, 

He  took  out  his  lance,  an'  he  sharpen'd  it  so ; 
No  judge  ever  look'd  more  decided  or  graver — 

"  I  've  oft  done  the  same,  sir,"  says  Dr.  Munroe. 
"  For  gamblers,  rogues,  jockeys,  and  desperate  lovers. 

But  I  always  make  charge  of  a  hundred,  or  so." 
The  patient  looked  pale,  and  cried  out  in  shrill  quavers, 

"  The  devil!  do  you  say  so,  sir,  Doctor  Munroe?  " 

"  0  yes,  sir,  I  'm  sorry  there  's  nothing  more  common; 

I  like  it — it  pays — but,  ere  that  length  I  go, 
A  man  that  goes  mad  for  the  love  of  a  woman 

I  sometimes  can  cure  with  a  lecture,  or  so." 


FALLOPIUS  TO  HIS  DISSECTING  KNIFE  63 

"Why,  thank  you,  sir;  there  spoke  the  man  and  the  friend 
too, 

Death  is  the  last  reckoner  with  friend  or  with  foe, 
The  lecture,  then,  first,  if  you  please,  I  '11  attend  to ; 

The  other,  of  course,  you  know,  Doctor  Munroe." 

The  lecture  is  said — How  severe,  keen,  an'  cutting, 

uf  iove  an'  of  wedlock,  each  loss  an'  each  woe, 
The  patient  got  up — o'er  the  floor  he  went  strutting. 

Smiled,  capered,  an*  shook  hands  with  Doctor  Munroe. 
He  dresses,  an'  flaunts  it  with  Bell,  Sue,  an'  Christy, 

But  freedom  an'  fun  chooses  not  to  forego  ; 
He  still  lives  a  bachelor,  drinks  when  he  's  thirsty. 

An'  sings  like  a  lark,  an'  loves  Doctor  Munroe  I 

— James  Hogg. 


Fallopius  to  His  Dissecting  Knife 

(1550) 

OW  shalt  thou  have  thy  way,  thou  little  blade. 
So  bright  and  keen ;  now  shalt  thou  have  thy  way. 
And  plod  no  more  through  bodies  cold  as  clay, 
*■  But  through  quick  flesh,  by  fiery  pulses  swayed. 
A  glorious  and  munificent  duke  hath  made 
Thee  a  great  gift ;  live  convicts ;  and  today. 
Though  Nature  shudder,  thou  shalt  say  thy  say 
On  Life's  deep  springs  where  God  so  long  forbade. 

Fear  not  lest  Mercy  blunt  thy  edge,  or  make 
The  hand  that  holds  thee  o'er  the  living  man 

With  any  human  hesitation  shake  ; 

But  thou  shalt  tell  me  why  his  life-blood  ran 
Thus  in  his  veins ;  what  Life  is  ;  and  shalt  slake 

The  thirst  of  thirsts  that  makes  my  cheek  so  wan. 

— Eugene  Lee-Hamilton. 


54  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Doctor  Bonomi 

Y  chance 

An  alchymist  doctor  whose  fortunes  were  down, 
jShifted  quarters,  and  set  up  one  day  in  a  town 

In  France. 

He  hired  a  house,  and  affixed  to  the  door 

A  name  that  the  people  had  never  before 

Seen. 
The  doctor  was  upright  and  stiff  as  a  wall, 
Remarkably  bony,  uncommonly  tall. 

And  lean. 
Now  into  this  house  from  a  wagon  was  brought. 
Whilst  a  crowd  gathered  staring,  a  monstrous  retort ; 
And  sweating  and  swearing,  a  staggering  porter 
Bore  in  a  leviathan  pestle  and  mortar ; 
Then  hideous  syringes,  alchymical  fixtures. 
And  great  podgy  bottles  of  all-colored  mixtures, 

A  flutter 
Among  the  gazers,  who  deemed  every  drop 
Explosive  material  to  go  off  with  a  pop 

And  splutter. 
Therefore  the  people  kept  back  in  the  street 
Ready  to  beat  an  immediate  retreat, 
Should  the  doctor  a  tendency  show  to  be  loading 
The  squirts,  or  the  bottles  give  signs  of  exploding 

By  fizzing. 
Some  gazed  in  mute  awe  on  his  spectacles  big, 
Whilst  others  the  cut  of  his  comical  wig 

Were  quizzing. 
Unheeding,  the  doctor  paced  solemnly  round 
In  silence  that  whispered  of  wisdom  profound 

And  vast. 
But  when  all  his  chattels  were  carried  within 

To  the  last, 


DOCTOR  BONOMI  55 

The  physician's  grave  features  relaxed  to  a  grin, 

And  he  said,  "  That  will  do  ;  I  think  now  I  have  nearly  all 

For  this  little  city,  the  needful  material." 

Now  round  with  the  speed  of  a  fire,  the  report 

Of  the  squirts,  the  great  bottles,  the  tubes,  the  retort 

Flew; 
And  from  every  quarter  the  inquisitive  pour. 
Men,  and  of  women,  of  course,  a  great  store, 
And  the  multitude  fast  round  the  alchymist's  door 

Grew. 
Sudden,  the  crier  emerged  with  a  horn. 
Calling,  "  O  yes,  O  yes,  this  blessed  morn 
Into  our  city,  of  doctors  e  'er  born 

The  chief 
Has  come,  Psalmanazar  Bonomi, 
Physician  extraordinary  to  the  King  of  Dahomy. 
A  deeper  read  doctor  no  mortal  can  show  me  ; 
He's  doctor  of  medicine  of  famous  Louvain  ; 
Salamanca  boasts  of  him  (Salamanca 's  in  Spain)  ; 
And,  to  prove  that  his  qualifications  are  thorough, 
He  passed  at  Montpelier,  Bologne,  Edinboro'. 

In  brief 
This  alchymist-doctor  of  learn'd  Salamanca 
(Expressive  though  vulgar  the  term)  is  a  spanker. 
Now  vain  the  delusion  of  him  who  supposes 
The  doctor  sets  plasters,  lets  blood,  or  gives  doses. 
Applies  leeches,  pounds  powders,  rolls  pills,  spreads  a  blister ; 
Far  other,  good  people,  the  practice  of  Mister 

Bonomi. 
Don't  dream,  if  you're  ill,  for  this  doctor  to  send. 
For  certainly  on  you  he  will  not  attend. 
Whatever  your  malady,  be  well  assured, 
You  must  not  seek  him,  if  you  want  to  be  cured. 
Should  he,  like  a  common  hack  doctor,  go  round — 
He  the  elixir  of  life  who  has  found 

In  Dahomy? 
No  !  he  visits  not  prince,  noble,  burgher,  or  peasant. 

Why  should  he  ?     A  score 

Of  doctors  and  more 


56  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Are  set  up  in  this  poky  old  city  at  present. 

So  those  who  have  croup, 

And  those  with  the  hoop, 
And  those  who  have  cholera,  liver  complaint, 
Rheumatics,  lumbago,  have  bile,  inflammation, 
Influenza,  or  measles,  have  fits,  or  who  faint. 
Have  fevers,  convulsions,  tic,  gout,  palpitation. 

Don't 
Let  them  by  calling  Doctor  Bonomi  bother. 
He  will  not  attend  ;  they  must  summon  another  ; 
Nor  strive  to  induce,  by  a  quadrupled  fee. 
Or  by  flattery,  to  bring  him  to  visit,  for  he 

Won't. 
But,  when  you  have  found  all  physicians  to  fail, 
And  every  prescription  has  ceased  to  avail. 
When  the  pulse  beats  no  more,  and  the  last  sigh  Is  sped. 
When  the  last  tear  has  trickled,  the  last  word  been  said. 

When 
Rigid  the  muscles,  when  motionless  lies 
The  patient,  sans  breath,  and  sans  ears,  and  sans  eyes, 
Sans  feeling,  sans  thinking,  sans  all  things,  in  bed ; 
In  a  word,  when  you  know  that  the  patient  Is  dead, — 

Then 
Send  for  the  illustrious  Doctor  Bonomi. 
For  then,  in  his  own  graphic  words.  "  All  will  know  me 

To  be 
The  Only  Physician  who  has  any  science. 
The  only  Bonomi.  with  none  in  alliance. 
Who  sets  all  the  doctors  of  France  at  defiance." 

So  he 
Urges  all  those  of  high  rank  or  low  station 
By  mortality  robbed  of  a  darling  relation, 

Father  or  mother, 

Sister  or  brother, 
Uncle  or  aunt,  wife,  husband,  or  lover. 
And  the  same  from  the  power  of  the  grave  would  recover. 

Let  'em 
Apply  to  the  doctor  at  their  earliest  leisure. 
And,  if  not  engaged,  it  will  give  him  great  pleasure 


DOCTOR  BONOMI  57 

For  the  trifling  fee  of  five  francs  each — no  more — 
The  precious  departed  to  life  to  restore, 

And  set  'em 
In  vigorous  health  once  again  in  their  places, 
With  their  old  dispositions,  old  habits,  old  faces. 
So  all  who  desire  at  a  trumpery  cost, 
To  recover  a  friend  or  relation  that's  lost, 
Have  only  to  come  to  the  doctor,  and  he 
Will  their  wishes  attend  at  afore-mentioned  fee. 

N.  B. 
A  reduction  to  families,  children  half-price. 
Under  twelve,  and  not  according  to  size." 

Well,  the  doctor  he  waited,  the  crier  he  cried, 
Newspaper  notices,  placards,  were  tried. 
But  the  crying  and  waiting  proved  wholly  in  vain ; 
And  days  as  they  passed,  made  it  daily  more  plain 
That  folks  were  not  eager  to  bring  back  again 
Those  who  had  died ; 

For NO  ONE  APPLIED. 

So  after  the  doctor  a  fortnight  had  waited. 

And  nobody  came, 
He  issued  a  poster,  the  color  of  flame. 

Whereon  it  was  stated 

That  greatly  to  blame 
Were  the  people  for  thinking  that  he  was  deceiving  'em ; 
And,  therefore,  before  he  determined  on  leaving  'em. 

He  did  intend 

At  the  week's  end 
To  prove  he  had  power  to  do  what  he  said. 
He  would  go  to  the  churchyard  and  raise  all  the  dead. 
Now,  scarce  had  the  placard  appeared  in  the  street. 
Ere  there  came  to  the  door  a  loud  clatter  of  feet. 

And  one 
Burst  in  on  the  doctor  with  colorless  cheek. 
And  in  his  excitement  scarce  able  to  speak : 
"  Did  you  say  you  were  going  at  the  end  of  the  week 
To  raise  all  the  dead  from  the  graves  of  the  city?  " 
He  fell  on  his  knees  wailing,  "  Doctor,  have  pity! 


58  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Do  not  arouse 

My  slumbering  spouse ! 

Though  fun 
To  a  stranger  such  practices  may  be, 
They're  death  and  perdition,  and  worse,  sir,  to  me. 

If  my  wife, 
Who  is  dead — rest  her  soul! — came  to  life, 

What  should  I  do  ? 
For  scarce  had  I  seen  her  in  sepulchre  laid 
Ere  I  put  in  the  banns,  and  was  spliced  to  her  maid. 

It  never  would  do 

Wives  to  have  two. 
Especially  when  the  first  wife  was  a  scold. 
Corpulent,  fussy,  and  ugly  and  old ; 
And  after  her  death  one's  enjoying  her  gold 

With  Kitty, 
Who  is  dapper,  and  young,  and  good-natured,  and  pretty. 

Then  he  pressed 
A  well-weighted  purse  on  Bonomi,  and  said, 
"  Now,  doctor,  remember,  in  raising  the  dead, 

Let  HER  rest." 


Now  scarce  had  this  gentleman  taken  his  hat. 
When  there  pealed  on  the  door  a  loud  rat-a-tat-tat. 
Then  in  came  another  man,  shaking  and  bowing. 
With  forehead  perspiring,  and  cheeks  all  a-glowing. 
Who  said,  in  an  accent  of  trouble  and  fear. 
Whilst  with  a  blue  handkerchief  mopping  his  face, 
"Why,  doctor!  good  heaven!  is  it  true  what  I  hear. 
That  you're  going  to  raise  all  the  dead  in  the  place  ? 
Why,  bless  me !  my  uncle  has  lately  deceased 

And  left  me  his  heir. 

And,  dear  sir,  I  declare 
That  now,  from  pecuniary  troubles  released, 
I'm  only  beginning  life's  pleasures  to  taste. 
Oh,  doctor !  if  you've  not  the  heart  of  a  stone, 
Have  pity,  and  leave  my  poor  uncle  alone. 
I  pray  you  accept  of  this  trifle,  and  save 
Me  the  terrible  blow.     Let  him  rest  in  his  grave." 


DOCTOR  BONOMI  59 

Then  in  came  another,  with  face  of  despair, 
Who  said  palpitating,  "  I  pray  you  forbear ! 
My  brothers  are  dead,  I'm  enjoying  their  share 
Of  the  fortune  my  father  amassed;  I  don't  care 
To  have  to  refund  it,  surrendering  the  pelf; 
Its  a  thousand  times  better  to  spend  it  oneself. 

Beside 
Providence  knew,  I  am  sure,  what  was  best. 
When,  by  measles,  it  took  my  dear  brothers  to  rest. 

They  died 
By  Heaven's  decree  ;  and  shall  mortal  perverse 
Adventure  what  Providence  rules  to  reverse  ? 

They  are  better  by  far, 

I'm  convinced,  where  they  are. 
(Here,  doctor,  I  pray  you  to  finger  this  purse)  ; 

Earth  was  no  home 
For  souls  such  as  theirs,  so  the  heavenly  flame 
Rose  to  the  ether  sublime  whence  it  came. 

0  monster  inhuman  !  rerivet  again 

Of  spirit  and  matter  the  long-shattered  chain ! 
Replace  the  poor  bird  in  the  cage  whence  its  flown  ! 
Cast  once  more  from  his  home  the  poor  exile  restored  ! 
O'er  the  criminal  pardoned  again  lift  the  sword! 
For  my  brothers'  sake,  doctor,  give  ear  to  my  plain, 
And  let  them  alone." 

The  next  to  appear  was  a  lady,  who  said. 
With  pattering  tears,  and  pendulous  head, 

"  Alack 
For  my  master  who  lay  for  a  long  time  in  bed  ! 
A  terrible  sufferer,  whilst  by  his  side 

1  tenderly  waited  and  watched,  till  he  died, 
And  must  he,  with  every  fond  fancy  and  whim, 

Come  back? 
For  years  I  kept  dancing  attendance  on  him. 
And  only  when  I  was  released  by  his  death. 
The  leisure  obtained  to  look  round,  and  take  breath. 

Now  I  enjoy. 

Without  any  alloy. 


60  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

My  freedom  and  income,  which  he,  ere  he  died, 
In  return  for  my  nursing  took  care  to  provide. 
O,  doctor!  I  'm  tired  of  being  a  nurse: 
So  I  pray  you  to  take  a  few  coins  from  this  purse, 

And  save 
My  feelings,  by  letting  him  rest  in  his  grave." 

The  next  to  arrive  was  a  gentleman  eager. 

With  sharp-pointed  nose,  long,  lanky,  and  meagre; 

Like  a  rat's 
Was  his  face.     He,  the  tallest  of  hats 
With  the  smallest  of  brims  in  his  fingers  was  folding. 
Whilst  the  stiffest  cravat  his  long  neck  was  enfolding ; 
His  swallow-tails  hung  to  the  calf  of  his  leg. 
Now  thus,  in  shrill  tones,  began  he  to  beg, 

Making  a  bow: 
"  How  do  you  do,  doctor  ?  how 
Are  you?  dear  Doctor  Bonomi ;  I  'm  calling 

To  assure  you  I  fear  the  event  of  a  riot 
In  the  city  at  the  prospect,  no  little  appalling. 

Of  our  dead  folk  not  being  allowed  to  lie  quiet. 
I  have  come  to  you,  doctor,  in  hopes  to  impress 
Your  mind  with  a  sense  of  the  prevailing  distress 
Which  is  caused  among  many  good  folk  by  the  thought 
Of  the  miracle  which  is  about  to  be  wrought. 
But  perhaps  you  will  best  understand,  if  I  place 
Before  you  an  instance,  a  representative  case. 

My  lady  gave  birth 

Twice  to  twins ;  in  the  earth 
They  are  lying,  very  much  to  their  benefit  surely, 
And  to  my  satisfaction.     They  always  were  poorly ; 

And,  because  of  their  ailing. 

They  never  ceased  wailing. 

Till  their  happy  release 

Gave  the  family  peace. 
They  are  well  where  they  are ;  but,  I  fear  and  suppose. 
With  the  others  these  babies  to  revive  you  propose. 
What  moneys  they  '11  cost  me  in  victuals  and  clothes ! 
Why,  to  think,  sir,"  he  added,  with  agonized  groan, 
"  Of  the  cost  of  four  little  boys'  breeches  alone. 


DOCTOR  BONOMI  61 

Which  always  give  way  at  the  seat  and  the  knee ; 

Which  they  are  ever  outgrowing; 

Which  take  buttons  and  sewing ! 
Alas !  but  four  boys  would  be  ruin  to  me. 
They  would  always  be  yelping  for  something  to  eat ; 
They  would  cost  me  a  fortune  in  bread,  sir,  and  meat. 

Then  their  education 

Befitting  their  station ! 
I  have  children  already,  enough  and  to  spare 
Already  my  wife  has  found  grey  in  my  hair. 
At  the  prospect  I  'm  ready  to  die  of  despair 

Of  having  to  provide 
For  four  hungry,  howling,  nude  creatures  beside. 
Therefore,  good  sir,  if  you  wake  those  that  sleep. 
Clear  of  my  babies,  I  pray  you  to  keep. 
Here's  a  humble  reminder,  fifteen  louis-d'or: 
And,  in  raising  the  dead,  pray,  my  babies  pass  o'er." 

Now  was  heard  in  the  street  of  wheels  a  loud  rumble ; 
Then  a  sudden  portentious  loud  rap  at  the  door. 

And  next,  up  the  stair. 

With  tumble 

And  grumble 
Full  into  the  room  came  bouncing  the  Mayor. 
*'  Ahem ! "  said  his  worship.     "  Sacre  bleu !  mille  diables ! 
Are  you  going  to  arouse  from  their  graves  all  the  rabble  ? 
Are  you,  sir,  the  man  who  will  quicken  the  dead?  " 
He  stopped,  out  of  breath,  but  still  waggled  his  head. 

Puffing  and  blowing. 
"What!     Such  an  infringement  of  order,  indeed! 
Revolution  and  anarchy  certain  to  breed. 

Do  you  think  I  am  going 
To  tolerate  it  for  one  moment?     Odds  bobbin! 
To  pay  Peter,  in  verity,  Paul  't  would  be  robbing ; 
For  I  fear  I  should  have  to  vacate  my  great  chair. 
If,  among  all  the  others,  you  roused  the  ex-Mayor. 
So,  out  of  the  city  1  bid  you  be  packing. 
Or  me,  ventre  gris!  sir,  you  will  not  find  lacking 
In  putting  in  force  the  full  weight  of  the  law. 
And  sending  you  where  you  were  never  before — 


62  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Into  prison ;  and  mark  you,  if  once  you  were  in  it, 

You  would  not  be  able  to  slip  out  in  a  minute. 

But  I  'm  generous,  doctor,  and  ready  to  offer 

A  compromise.     Here  are  rouleaux  in  this  coffer : 

Take  them.     Your  absence— I  'm  ready  to  buy  it ; 

Only,  for  mercy's  sake,  leave  the  dead  quiet. 

To  the  money  you  're  welcome — accept,  and  be  gone  ; 

But,  whatever  you  do,  leave  the  ex-Mayor  alone. 

Now  pack 
Up  your  traps  ;  it  's  a  beautiful  morning 
For  shifting  your  quarters.     No  slighting  my  warning ! 
Why,"  added  his  worship,  with  iciest  stare. 
"  I  'm  'whelmed  with  amazement  to  think  you  should  dare 
To  dream  of  unseating  ME— me,  sir,  the  Mayor! 

Then  back 
With  your  bottles  and  drugs  to  the  wilds  of  Dahomy, 
There  practice  at  ease,  on  fresh  corpse  or  old  mummy. 

With  nothing  to  fear, 

But  only  not  here, 
So !  out  of  the  town  with  you.  Doctor  Bonomi !  " 

— S.  Baring-Gould. 


The  Quack  Doctor 

BUT  what  a  thoughtless  animal  is  man  ! 
(How  very  active  in  his  own  trepan!) 
For,  greedy  of  physicians'  frequent  fees. 
From  female  mellow  praise  he  takes  degrees ; 
Struts  in  a  new  unlicensed  gown,  and  then 
From  saving  women  falls  to  killing  men. 
Another  such  had  left  the  nation  chin. 
In  spite  of  all  the  children  he  brought  in. 
His  pills  as  thick  as  hand  grenadoes  flew. 
And  where  they  fell,  as  certainly  they  slew. 

— Wentworth  Dillon,  Earl  of  Roscommon. 


THE  TRANSFERRED  MALADY  63 


The  Transferred  Malady 

(in  an  oculist's  office.) 

11  OW  sweet  the  girl !     I  saw  her  pass 
/,    I      The  waiting  group,  with  dumb  surprise 
\   I  A  golden-haired,  trim,  willowy  lass, 
1-     With  heaven's  soft  azure  in  her  eyes. 
What  could  there  be  in  them  to  mend  ? 

Nothing,  I  stoutly  should  insist; 
But  still  she  asked  to  see  my  friend 
The  bachelor — and  oculist. 

I  saw  her  take  the  patient's  chair 

(Venus  and  Science  matched  amain) , 
And  though  his  search  found  little  there, 

He  asked  the  girl  to  come  again. 
But  while  with  his  ophthalmoscope 

He  sought  the  source  of  her  distress. 
In  the  next  room,  with  rhyme  and  trope, 

I  tried  my  rapture  to  express. 

"  Neuritis  of  mild  type  it  is," 

He  said  (whatever  that  may  be) ; 
"  Here  is  a  wash  I  use  for  this. 

But  come  each  day  and  visit  me." 
I  knew  the  doctor's  ready  skill; 

Yet  while  he  battled  with  the  case. 
His  eyes  received  from  hers  a  thrill; 

A  crimson  flush  suffused  her  face. 

Daily,  as  she  was  bid,  she  came  ; 

Daily  the  doctor  scanned  her  eyes. 
A  cardiac  spasm  I  need  not  name 

At  length  he  struggled  to  disguise ; 


64  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

For  gazing  In  those  orbs  of  blue 
So  close  transferred  an  aching  smart. 

No  "wash "  he  ever  gave  or  knew 
For  ailing  eyes  could  help  his  heart. 

The  girl  was  cured,  the  patient  lost, 

What  now  avails  his  utmost  fees 
Or  rapid  skill,  to  be  so  tossed 

About  my  Cupid's  sharp  caprice? 
Those  blue  eyes,  had  i  had  the  case, 

Should  not  have  been  for  years  dismissed. 
To  keep  them  always  face  to  face, 

I  'd  die — a  baffled  oculist. 

— Joel  Benton. 


With  the  Scapel 

Ie,  Y  ERE'S  our  "  subject,"  tall  and  strong, 
J,    I      With  Vermillion  well  injected  ; 
\   I  Where  the  blood  once  coursed  along, 
*■     Ready  now  to  be  dissected. 
Some  one  never  claimed,  it  seems, 
Friendless  amid  London's  Babel: 
Did  he  ever  in  his  dreams 
See  this  table  ? 


Here's  a  hand  that  once  held  fast 
All  things  pleasant,  to  its  liking ; 

Now  its  active  days  are  past, 
Or  for  friendship,  or  for  striking. 

Nothing  colder  here  could  lie, 
Yet  on  some  one's  palm  there  lingers 

Sense  of  its  warm  touch,  while  I 
Strip  the  fingers. 


WITH  THE  SCAPEL  65 

How  the  dead  eyes  strangely  stare. 

When  I  lift  the  lids  above  them! 
Yet  some  woman  lives,  I  swear, 

Who  too  well  had  learnt  to  love  them ; 
Some  one  since  their  final  sleep 

Holds  their  smiles  in  recollection, 
While  I  put  them  by  to  keep 
For  dissection. 

Then  the  heart.     I  take  it  out, 

Handling  it  with  no  compunction; 
Once  it  wildly  pulsed,  no  doubt, 

Well  performed  each  wondrous  function. 
Sped  the  life-blood  in  its  race 

In  miraculous  gyration. 
Felt,  responsive  to  one  face. 
Palpitation. 

Where  was  life  then  ?    Was  it  hid 

In  each  curious  convolution. 
Packed  beneath  the  cranium  lid 

With  such  ordered  distribution? 
Can  we  touch  one  spot  and  say. 

Here  all  thought  and  feeling  entered. 
Here — 'twas  but  the  other  day — 
Life  was  centered  ? 

No,  that  puzzle  still  remains, 

One  unsolved,  supreme  attraction ; 
Here  are  muscles,  nerves  and  veins — 

Where  was  that  which  gave  them  action  ? 
Though  the  scapel's  edge  be  keen, 

Comes  no  answer  from  the  tissues, 
Telling  us  where  life  has  been — 
Whence  it  issues. 

We  can  bid  the  heart  be  still, 

Stop  the  life-blood's  circulation  ; 
Paralyze  the  sovereign  will, 

Through  the  centres  of  sensation. 

&-6 


66  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

When  the  clay  lies  at  your  feet, 
We  can  light  no  life  within  it, 
Cannot  make  the  dead  heart  beat 
For  one  minute. 


Yet  this  thought  remains  with  him, 

Dead  he  is  to  outward  seeming, 
Still  the  eyes,  so  glazed  and  dim, 

See  what  lies  beyond  our  dreaming ; 
Know  the  secret  of  the  spheres 

Truth  of  doom  or  bliss  supernal, 
Read  the  riddle  of  the  years- 
Life  eternal! 

So  we  '11  leave  him,  ready  now 

For  tomorrow  morning's  lecture, 
Little  recks  that  placid  brow 

Of  our  wayward  wild  conjecture. 
It  may  be  our  fate  to  die 

All  unwept  and  missed  by  no  men — 
As  he  lies  there  we  may  lie  ; 
Absit  omen. 

— H.  Savile  Clarke. 


The  Joking  Doctor 

KNEW  a  doctor  years  ago. 
Aged  forty,  fat,  and  ruddy. 

Who  made  of  puns,  both  high  and  low, 
A  most  important  study. 

To  men  who  fasted  for  a  day. 

Whose  lungs  were  but  presumption. 

He  'd  say  in  a  most  joyous  way, 
"How  great  is  your  consumption ! " 


THE  JOKING  DOCTOR  67 

And  added  that  in  many  ways, 

His  heart  was  sympathetic, 
And  how  his  skill  brought  forth  more  praise, 

Than  any  known  emetic. 

When  called  upon  to  use  his  power, 

And  check  some  angry  tumor, 
He  'd  cry  "  how  can  you  look  so  sour, 

You  're  in  delicious  humeri  " 

And  if  some  sighed  "  the  room  needs  air," 

Before  the  mourners  present. 
He  'd  smile,  and  gently  say,  "forbear, 

Your  rheum  is  very  pleasant." 

My  daughter  Annie,  on  the  stoop, 

Fell  sick  in  strangest  manner, 
This  doctor  came,  and  said  "  it  's  croup, 

I  '11  ipecac  you,  Anna  I  " 

And  when  I  asked  him,  "shall  I  die." 

After  some  great  entreaties. 
He  muttered  "yes,"  with  one  closed  eye, 

"  Unless  you  diabetes  I  " 

And  thus  for  many,  many  years, 

This  creature  has  been  stunning 
Thousands  of  helpless,  suffering  ears, 

By  his  atrocious  punning. 

But  I  will  have  my  joke  on  him, 

Aitho'  to  me  't  is  trying; 
For  sometime  back  I  've  felt  quite  slim, 

He  told  me  I  was  dying. 

His  bill  since  last  July  is  due, 

And  it  will  make  him  holler 
To  find  (I  tell  this  entre  nous)  , 

I  have  n't  left  a  dollar! 

— Francis  Saltus  Saltus. 


68  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Guneopathy 

SAW  a  lady  yesterday, 
'jj      A  regular  M.  D., 

Who  'd  taken  from  the  Faculty 
Her  medical  degree ; 
And  I  thought,  if  ever  I  was  sick. 
My  doctor  she  should  be  1 

I  pity  the  deluded  man 

Who  foolishly  consults 
Another  man,  in  hopes  to  find 

Such  magical  results 
As  when  a  pretty  woman  lays 

Her  hand  upon  his  pulse  I 

I  had  a  strange  disorder  once, 

A  kind  of  chronic  chill. 
That  all  the  doctors  in  the  town, 

With  all  their  vaunted  skill. 
Could  never  cure,  I  'm  very  sure, 

With  powder  nor  with  pill. 

1  don't  knov/  what  they  called  it 
in  their  pompous  terms  of  Art, 

Nor  if  they  thought  it  mortal 
In  such  a  vital  part, — 

I  only  know  't  was  reckoned 

••  Something  icy  round  the  heart!" 

A  lady  came, — her  presence  brought 

The  blood  into  my  ears  1 
She  took  my  hand — and  something  like 

A  fever  now  appears ! 
Great  Galen !— I  was  all  aglow, 

Though  I  'd  been  cold  for  years  I 


DOCTOR  GALL  6d 

Perhaps  It  is  n't  every  case 

That 's  fairly  In  her  reach, 
But  should  I  e'er  be  ill  again, 

I  fervently  beseech 
That  I  may  have,  for  life  or  death, 

A  lady  for  my  '•  leech  " ! 

— John  Godfrey  Saxe. 


I 


Doctor  Gall 

^     SING  of  the  organs  and  fibers 

That  ramble  about  in  the  brains ; 
Avaunt!  ye  irreverent  jibers, 
•i       Or  stay  and  be  wise  for  your  pains. 
All  heads  were  of  yore  on  a  level, 

One  could  not  tell  clever  from  dull, 
Till  I,  like  Le  Sage's  lame  devil, 

Unroofed  with  a  touch  every  skull. 
Oh,  I  am  the  mental  dissector, 
I  fathom  the  wits  of  you  all, 
Then  come  in  a  crowd  to  the  lecture 
Of  craniological  Gall. 


The  passions,  or  active  or  passive, 

Exposed  by  my  magical  spells, 
As  busy  as  bees  in  a  glass  hive, 

Are  seen  in  their  separate  cells. 
Old  Momus,  who  wanted  a  casement 

Whence  all  in  the  heart  might  be  read. 
Were  he  living,  would  stare  with  amazement 

To  find  what  he  wants  in  the  head. 

There  's  an  organ  for  strains  amoroso, 
Just  under  the  edge  of  the  wig. 

An  organ  for  writing  but  so-so, 
For  driving  a  tilbury  gig ; 


70  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

An  organ  for  boxers,  for  stoics. 

For  giving  booksellers  a  lift, 
For  marching  the  zig-zag  heroics. 

And  editing  Jonathan  Swift. 

I  raise  in  match-making  a  rumpus, 

And  Cupid  his  flame  must  impart 
Henceforth  with  a  rule  and  a  compass, 

Instead  of  a  bow  and  a  dart. 
•'  Dear  Madam,  your  eyebrow  is  horrid ; 

And  Captain,  too  broad  is  your  pate  ; 
I  see  by  that  bump  on  your  forehead 

You  're  shockingly  dull  tete-a-t6te." 

When  practice  has  made  my  book  plainer 

To  manhood,  to  age,  and  to  youth, 
I  '11  build,  like  the  genius  Phanor, 

In  London  a  palace  of  truth. 
Then  fibs,  ah,  beware  how  you  tell  'em. 

Reflect  how  pellucid  the  skull. 
Whose  downright  sincere  cerebellum 

Must  render  all  flattery  null. 

Your  friend  brings  a  play  out  at  Drury, 

'Tis  hooted  and  damned  in  the  pit ; 
Your  organ  of  friendship 's  all  fury, 

But  what  says  your  organ  of  wit  ? 
"  Our  laughter  next  time  prithee  stir,  man. 

We  don't  pay  our  money  to  weep  ; 
Your  play  must  have  come  from  the  Germa^i, 

It  set  all  the  boxes  asleep." 

At  first,  all  will  be  in  a  bustle ; 

The  eye  will,  from  ignorance,  swerve. 
And  some  will  abuse  the  wrong  muscle, 

And  some  will  adore  the  wrong  nerve. 
In  love  should  your  hearts  then  be  sporting. 

Your  heads  on  one  level  to  bring, 
You  must  go  in  your  nightcaps  a-courting. 

As  if  you  were  going  to  swing. 


MOST  TO  BE  PITIED  71 

Yet  some  happy  mortals,  all  virtue. 

Have  sentiment  just  as  they  should, 
Their  occiput  nought  can  do  hurt  to, 

Each  organ  's  an  organ  of  good  ; 
Such  couples  angelic,  when  mated, 

To  bid  all  concealment  retire, 
Should  seek  Hymen's  altar  bald-pated. 

And  throw  both  their  wigs  in  his  fire. 

My  system,  from  great  A  to  Izzard, 

You  now,  my  good  friends,  may  descry. 
Not  Shakespeare's  Bermudean  wizard 

Was  half  so  enchanting  as  I . 
His  magic  a  Tempest  could  smother. 

But  mine  the  soul's  hurricane  clears, 
By  exposing  your  heads  to  each  other. 

And  setting  those  heads  by  the  ears. 

Oh,  I  am  the  mental  dissector, 

I  fathom  the  wits  of  you  all ; 
So  here  is  an  end  to  the  lecture 

Of  craniological  Gall. 

— James  Smith. 


Most  to  be  Pitied 

THE  woman  of  sentiment  said  to  the  Doctor, 
(And  the  answer  he  gave  her  most  awfully 
shocked  her ! ) 
"  Dear  Doctor,  of  all  the  relentless  diseases 
That  lie  in  dark  wait,  without  warning  to  seize  us. 
What  malady  is  it  so  harshly  attacks  us. 
So  wickedly  wounds  and  so  ruthlessly  racks  us, 
That,  seeing  its  victim  distressed  in  such  fashion 
You  give  him  at  once  your  profoundest  compassion?' 
And  the  Doctor  responded,  "  I  think  'tis  admitted 
Tne  man  with  the  small-pox  is  most  to  be  pitied ! " 
— Mrs.  George  Archibald. 


72  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Miss  Sophronia's  Cure 

I  IE  treated  me  for  mumps,  did  the  blessed  Dr.  Stumps, 
I  /  I  He  treated  me  for  measles  when  my  soul  was  in  the 
\\\  dumps; 

1       1     And  without  a  shade  of  question  he  improved  my 

indigestion — 
Oh !  a  therapeutic  wonder  was  the  blessed  Dr.  Stumps  I 

But  when  my  mumps  had  fled  then  I  had  an  aching  head, 
And  when  my  head  was  cured  I  had  lung-complaint,  instead ; 
Then  he  clinched  with   my  bronchitis,  then  he  treated  my 
gastritis — 
And  now  that  blessed  doctor — he  has  left  me — he  is  dead ! 


When  he  used  to  come  and  say,  "Ah!  you  have  the  chills  to- 
day!" 

Or,  "You  have  a  touch  of  fever,"  I  was  frolicsome  and  gay; 
When  he  told  me,  "  Miss  Sophronia,  you  are  suffering  from 
pneumonia," 

I  rejoiced  with  great  rejoicing  at  the  words  he  used  to  say. 

For  he  'd  sit  and  sympathize  with  compassion  in  his  eyes. 
And  he  'd  talk  about  my  symptoms  and  he  'd  look  superbly  wise  ; 
Then  he  'd  give  me  learned  theses  on  the  treatment  of  dis- 
eases. 
And  number  all  the  catalogue  of  all  my  agonies. 

While  the  long  years  rolled  away  I  was  very  sick  and  gay, 
I  was  very  ill  and  happy,  gladly  wasting  in  decay ; 

But  when  Dr.  Stumps  departed.  Dr.  Meyers,  iron-hearted, 
Came  and  cured  me  in  a  fortnight — and  I  'm  sad  and  well  to- 
day. 


The   Anxious  Moment 


jfe 

^sj^  m^^^^^m^.:         ^^.^    ^^^ 

HOUSEWIFELY  PHYSIC  73 

Now  I  have  no  blessed  ease  that  accompanies  disease — 
What  is  there  in  life  to  cheer  me  ?     What  is  there  in  life  to 
please  ? 
Now  I  have  no  blessed  theses  on  my  symptoms  and  dis- 
eases— 
If  I  must  continue  healthy,  let  me  die  and  find  release. 

— Sam  Walter  Foss. 


Housewifely  Physic 

OOD  husewife  provides,  ere  a  sickness  do  come, 
Of  sundry  good  things  in  her  house  to  have  some. 
[Good  AQUA  coMPosiTA,  and  vinegar  tart. 
^Rose-water,  and  treacle,  to  comfort  thine  heart. 

Cold  herbs  in  her  garden,  for  agues  that  burn, 

That  over-strong  heat  to  good  temper  may  turn. 

White  endive,  and  succory,  with  spinach  enow; 

All  such  with  good  pot-herbs,  should  follow  the  plough. 

Get  water  of  fumitory,  liver  to  cool, 

And  others  the  like,  or  else  lie  like  a  fool. 

Conserves  of  barbary,  quinces,  and  such, 

With  sirops,  that  easeth  the  sickly  so  much. 

Ask  Medicus'  counsel,  ere  medicine  ye  take. 

And  honour  that  man  for  necessity's  sake. 

Though  thousands  hate  physic,  because  of  the  cost. 

Yet  thousands  it  helpeth,  that  else  should  be  lost. 

Good  broth,  and  good  keeping,  do  much  now  and  than . 

Good  diet,  with  wisdom,  best  comforteth  man. 

In  health,  to  be  stirring  shall  profit  thee  best; 

In  sickness,  hate  trouble ;  seek  quiet  and  rest. 

Remember  thy  soul ;  let  no  fancy  prevail ; 

Make  ready  to  God-ward;  let  faith  never  quail: 

The  sooner  thyself  thou  submittest  to  God, 

The  sooner  he  ceaseth  to  scourge  with  his  rod. 

— Thomas  Tusser,  About  1557 


THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW. 


M 


JH 


A  Human  Skull 

HUMAN  Skull!     I  bought  it  passing  che^. 
Indeed   'twas  dearer  to  its  first  employer ! 

I  thought  mortality  did  well  to  keep 

Some  mute  memento  of  the  Old  Destroyer. 


It  is  a  ghostly  monitor,  and  most 

Experienced  our  wasting  sand  in  summing; 
It  is  a  grave  domestic  finger-post 

That  warning  points  the  way  to  kingdom-coming. 

Time  was,  some  may  have  prized  its  blooming  skin ;. 

Here  lips  were  woo'd,  perhaps,  in  transport  tender; 
Some  may  have  chuck'd  what  was  a  dimpled  chin. 

And  never  had  my  doubt  about  its  gender ! 

Did  she  live  yesterday  or  ages  back  ? 

What  color  were  the  eyes  when  bright  and  waking? 
And  were  your  ringlets  fair,  or  brown,  or  black, 

Poor  little  head!  that  long  has  done  with  aching? 

It  may  have  held  (to  shoot  some  random  shots) 
Thy  brains,  Eliza  Fry,  or  Baron  Byron's ; 

The  wits  of  Nelly  Gwynn,  or  Dr.  Watts, — 

Two  quoted  bards !  two  philanthropic  syrens ! 

But  this  I  surely  knew  before  I  closed 

The  bargain  on  the  morning  that  I  bought  it ; 

It  was  not  half  so  bad  as  some  supposed, 

Nor  quite  as  good  as  many  may  have  thought  it. 

Who  love,  can  need  no  special  type  of  death ; 

Death  steals  his  icy  hand  where  Love  reposes 
Alas  for  love,  alas  for  fleeting  breath, 

Immortelles  bloom  with  Beauty's  bridal  roses. 


THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY        15 

0  true  love  mine,  what  lines  of  care  are  these? 

The  heart  still  lingers  with  its  golden  hours. 
But  fading  tints  are  on  the  chestnut  trees. 

And  where  is  all  that  lavish  wealth  of  flowers  ? 

The  end  is  near.     Life  lacks  what  once  it  gave, 
Yet  death  has  promises  that  call  for  praises, 

A  very  worthless  rogue  may  dig  the  grave, 

But  hands  unseen  will  dress  the  turf  with  daisies. 

— Frederick  Locker- Lampson 


The  Newcastle  Apothecary 

MAN  in  many  a  country  town  we  know. 

Professes  openly  with  death  to  wrestle  ; 

Entering  the  field  against  the  grimly  foe, 
•  ■  Armed  with  a  mortar  and  a  pestle. 
Yet  some  affirm  no  enemies  they  are, 
But  meet  just  like  prize-fighters  in  a  fair. 
Who  first  shake  hands  before  they  box, 
Then  give  each  other  plaguy  knocks. 
With  all  the  love  and  kindness  of  a  brother ; 
So  (many  a  suffering  patient  saith) , 
Though  the  apothecary  fights  with  Death, 
Still  they  're  swora  friends  to  one  another. 

A  member  of  this  yEsculapian  line 

Lived  at  Newcastle-upon-Tyne ; 

No  man  could  better  gild  a  pill. 

Or  make  a  bill. 

Or  mix  a  draught,  or  bleed,  or  blister. 

Or  draw  a  tooth  out  of  your  head, 

Or  chatter  scandal  by  your  bed. 

Or  give  a  clyster. 

Of  occupations  these  were  quantum  suff. 

Yet.  still,  he  thought  the  list  not  large  enough  ; 

And  therefore  midwifery  he  chose  to  pin  to  It. 


76  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

This  balanced  things,  for  if  Tie  hurl'd 

A  few  score  mortals  from  the  world, 

He  made  amends  by  bringing  others  into  't. 

His  fame  full  six  miles  round  the  country  ran ; 

In  short,  in  reputation  he  was  solus  ; 

All  the  old  women  called  him  "  a  fine  man! " 

His  name  was  Bolus. 


Benjamin  Bolus,  though  in  trade 
(Which  oftentimes  will  genius  fetter) , 
Read  works  of  fancy,  it  is  said, 
And  cultivated  the  belles  lettres. 
And  why  should  this  be  thought  so  odd? 
Can't  men  have  taste  who  cure  a  phthisic? 
Of  poetry  though  patron  god, 
Apollo  patronizes  physic. 

Bolus  loved  verse  and  took  so  much  delight  in  't. 
That  his  prescriptions  he  resolved  to  write  in  't. 
No  opportunity  he  e'er  let  pass 
Of  writing  the  directions  on  his  labels 
In  dapper  couplets,  like  Gay's  fables. 
Or,  rather,  like  the  lines  in  Hudibras. 
Apothecary's  verse ! — and  where  's  the  treason  ? 
'T  is  simply  honest  dealing ;  not  a  crime  ; 
When  patients  swallow  physic  without  reason 
It  is  but  fair  to  give  a  little  rhyme. 

He  had  a  patient  lying  at  death's  door, 

Some  three  miles  from  the  town — it  might  be  four. 

To  whom,  one  evening.  Bolus  sent  an  article 

In  pharmacy,  that  's  called  cathartical, 

And  on  the  label  of  the  stuff 

He  wrote  this  verse, 

Which,  one  would  think,  was  clear  enough, 

And  terse : 

"When  taken, 

To  BE  WELL  SHAKEN." 


THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY  77 

Next  morning  early,  Bolus  rose, 

And  to  the  patient's  house  he  goes 

Upon  his  pad, 

Who  a  vile  trick  of  stumbling  had : 

It  was,  indeed,  a  very  sorry  hack; 

But  that  's  of  course 

For  what  's  expected  from  a  horse 

With  an  apothecary  on  his  back? 

Bolus  arrived,  and  gave  a  doubtful  tap. 

Between  a  single  and  a  double  rap. 

Knocks  of  this  kind 

Are  given  by  gentlemen  who  teach  to  dance, 

By  fiddlers,  and  by  opera-singers ; 

One  loud,  and  then  a  little  one  behind, 

As  if  the  knocker  fell,  by  chance. 

Out  of  their  fingers. 

The  servant  lets  him  in  with  dismal  face, 

Long  as  a  courtier's  out  of  place — 

Portending  some  disaster. 

John's  countenance  as  rueful  looked  and  grim. 

As  if  the  apothecary  had  physicked  him. 

And  not  his  master. 

"  Well,  how  's  the  patient  ?  "  Bolus  said. 

John  shook  his  head. 

"  Indeed ! — hum  !  ha ! — that's  very  c  dd ! 

He  took  the  draught?  "     John  gave  a  nod. 

"Well,  how?  what  then?  speak  out,  you  dunce  !  " — 

•'Why,  then,"  says  John,  "we  shook  him  once" — 

"  Shook  him ! — how?  "  Bolus  stammered  out. 

"We  jolted  him  about" — 

"Zounds!  shake   a  patient,  man!  a  shake  won't 

do." 

"  No,  sir,  and  so  we  gave  him  two." 

"  Two  shakes  !  odd's  curse ! 

'Twould  make  the  patient  worse." 

"  It  did  so,  sir,  and  so  a  third  we  tried." 

"Well,  and  what  then?" — "  Then,  sir,  my  master 

died." 

— George  Col  man,  The  Younger. 


78  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Boyle  Godfrey,  Chymist  and  Doctor  of 
Medicine 

Epitaphium  Chemicum. 

WERE  lieth  to  digest,  macerate,  and  amalgamate 
with  clay, 
In  Balneo  Arenas, 
Stratum  super  stratum. 
The  Residuum,  Terra  Damnata,  and  Caput  Mortuum, 
Of  Boyle  Godfrey,  Chimist 
And  M.  D. 
A  man  who  in  this  earthly  Laboratory 
Pursued  various  processes  to  obtain 
Arcanum  Vitas, 
Or  the  Secret  to  Live  ; 
Also  Aurum  Vitas, 
Or  the  art  of  getting,  rather  than  making,  Gold. 
Alchemist  like. 
All  his  labor  and  propition. 
As  Mercury  in  the  fire,  evaporated  in  fumo. 
When  he  dissolved  to  his  first  principles. 
He  departed  as  poor 
As  the  last  drops  of  an  alembic : 

For  riches  are  not  poured 

On  the  Adepts  of  this  world. 

Thus, 

Not  Solar  in  his  purse. 

Neither  Lunar  in  his  disposition. 

Nor  Jovial  in  his  temperament ; 

Being  of  Saturnine  habit, 

Venereal  conflicts  had  left  him. 

And  Martial  ones  he  disliked. 

With  nothing  saline  in  his  composition, 

All  Salts  but  two  were  his  Nostrums. 

The  Attic  he  did  not  know. 


BOYLE  GODFREY,  CHYMIST  79 

And  that  of  the  Earth  he  thought  not  Essential ; 

But,  perhaps,  his  had  lost  its  savor. 

Though  fond  of  news,  he  carefully  avoided 

The  fermentation,  effervescence, 

And  decupilation  of  this  life. 

Full  seventy  years  his  exalted  essence 

Was  hermetically  sealed  in  its  terrene  matrass ; 

But  the  radical  moisture  being  exhausted, 

The  Elixir  Vit£e  spent, 

Inspissated  and  exsiccated  to  a  cuticle, 

He  could  not  suspend  longer  in  his  vehicle, 

But  precipitated  gradatim 

Per  companum 

To  his  original  dust. 

May  that  light,  brighter  than  Bolognian  Phosphorus, 

Preserve  him  from  the  Incineration  and  Concremation 

Of  the  Athanor,  Empyreuma,  and  Reverberatory 

Furnace  of  the  other  world. 

Depurate  him,  like  Tartarus  Regeneratus, 

From  the  Foeces  and  Scoria  of  this ; 

Highly  rectify  and  volatilize 

His  Etherial  Spirit, 

Bring  it  over  the  helm  of  the  Retort  of  this  Globe, 

Place  in  a  proper  Recipient, 

Or  Crystalline  Orb, 

Among  the  elect  of  the  Flowers  of  Benjamin, 

Never  to  be  saturated 

Till  the  general  Resuscitation, 

Deflagration,  and  Calcination  of  all  Things, 

When  all  the  reguline  parts 

Of  his  comminuted  substance 

Shall  be  again  concentrated. 

Revivified,  alcholized,  ^ 

And  imbibe  its  pristine  Archeses ; 

Undergo  a  new  transmutation. 

Eternal  fixation. 

And  combination  of  its  former  Aura; 

Be  coated  over  and  decorated  in  robes  more  fair 

Than  the  majestie  of  Bismuth, 


80  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

More  sparkling  than  Cinnabar, 

Or  Aurum  Mosaicum. 

And  being  found  Proof  Spirit, 

Then  to  be  exalted  and  sublimed  together 

Into  the  Concave  Dome 

Of  the  highest  Aludel  In  Paradise. 

— Dr.  Charles  Smith 


The  Old  Doctor 

'     I  y  ""HEY  'VE  got  a  new  man  down  hyere 

ii4>       At  Mason's  Cove,  thet  's  young 

^    An'  got  a  heap  o'  I'amln' 

Ir        An'  quite  a  'ily  tongue. 
I  've  nothin'  no-way  'ginst  him. 

But  tell  ye  when  I  'm  sick 
I  want  old  Dr.  Milspaugh, 

An'  I  want  him  mighty  quick  I 

He  's  doctored  all  my  fambly 

For  sixty  year,  ye  know. 
An'  when  he  could  n't  cure  us 

He  never  told  us  so ! 
He  never  gave  a  case  up 

Like  doctors  sometimes  do, 
But  let  us  die  a-hopin' 

Thet  we  was  pullin'  through. 

'N'  most  I  like  about  him 

Is  that  he  never  tries 
New-fangled  drugs  upon  ye. 

Like  some  thet  ain't  so  wise. 
No  differ  what 's  your  yailment. 

He  '11  give  ye  calermel; 
Ef  thet  don't  work  he  '11  dose  ye 

With  quinine  fer  a  spell. 


ON   AUFIDIUS  81 

Thar  ain't  no  form  o'  sickness 

Thet  ever  showed  itse'f 
Inside  o'  mortal  critters, 

Enj'yin'  mortal  breaf. 
But  what  old  Doc  kin  spot  It 

An'  call  the  thing  by  name, 
Like  he  was  blood-kin  to  it 

An'  kr.owed  f  om  whar  it  came. 

He  's  hand-in-glove  with  fevers, 

'N'  when  he  strikes  a  sprain 
He  's  jest  like  he  was  sayin' 

"  Well,  hyere  ye  are  again ! " 
An'  even  Death  don't  feaze  him — 

He  knows  it,  branch  an'  roots, 
So  well  ye  'bout  'ud  reckon 

They  both  was  in  cahoots. 

An'  bein'  he  's  so  po'rful, 

Ef  ever  I  'm  took  sick, 
'S  I  say,  I  want  old  Doctor, 

'N'  I  want  him  middlin'  quick! 
'F  my  time  's  come,  naught  can  save  me; 

Ef  it  ain't,  why  then  old  Doc 
'UU  fetch  me  round  a-hummin' 

An'  gritty  ez  a  rock. 

— Eva  Wilder  McGlasson 


On  Aufidius 

AHUM'ROUS  fellow  in  a  tavern  late, 
Being  drunk  and  valiant,  gets  a  broken  pate  -, 
The  surgeon  with  instruments  and  skill, 
Searches  his  skull,  deeper  and  deeper  still. 
To  feel  his  brains,  and  try  if  they  were  sound ; 
And,  as  he  keeps  ado  about  the  wound. 
The  fellow  cries — "  Good  surgeon,  spare  your  pains. 
When  I  began  this  brawl  I  had  no  brains." 

— AcTius  Sannazarius. 

5-6 


82  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Same  Who  Physick'd  Peter 

(don    JUAN,    CANTO    X.) 

B  ■  DON'T  know  how  it  was.  but  he  grew  sick: 
•>  i      The  empress  was  alarm'd,  and  her  physician 
^     (The  same  who  physick'd  Peter)  found  the  tick 

Of  his  fierce  pulse  betoken  a  condition 
Which  augur'd  of  the  dead,  however  quick 
Itself,  and  show'd  a  feverish  disposition ; 
At  which  the  whole  court  was  extremely  troubled, 
The  sovereign  shock'd,  and  all  his  medicines  doubled. 

Low  were  the  whispers,  manifold  the  rumors ; 

Some  said  he  had  been  poison'd  by  Potemkln; 
Others  talk'd  learnedly  of  certain  tumors, 

Exhaustion,  or  disorders  of  the  same  kin ; 
Some  said  'twas  a  concoction  of  the  humors, 

Which  with  the  blood  too  readily  will  claim  kin; 
Others  again  were  ready  to  maintain, 
'•  'Twas  only  the  fatigue  of  last  campaign." 

But  here  is  one  prescription  out  of  many : 
"  Sodas  sulphat.  3  vj.  3  fs.  Mannas  optim. 

Aq.  fervent,  f.  |  ifs.  3  ij.  tinct.  Sennas 

Haustus."    (And  here  the  surgeon  came  and  cupp'd 
him) 

"R  Pulv.  Com.  gr.  iij,  Ipecacuanhas" 

(With  more  beside  if  Juan  had  not  stopp'd  'em.) 

"  Bolus  Potassae  Sulphuret.  sumendus, 

Et  haustus  ter  in  die  capiendus." 

This  is  the  way  physicians  mend  or  end  us, 
Secundum  artem :  but  although  we  sneer 

In  health— when  ill,  we  call  them  to  attend  us. 
Without  the  least  propensity  to  jeer: 


THE  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  S'a 

While  that  "  hiatus  maxime  deflendus  " 

To  be  fill'd  up  by  spade  or  mattock's  near, 
Instead  of  gliding  graciously  down  Lethe, 
We  tease  mild  Baillie,  or  soft  Abernethy. 

— Lord  Byron. 


The  General  Practitioner 

E  must  not  walk  his  rounds  for  fear  his  patients  think 

him  poor, 
And  dearly  do  they  love  to  see  a  carriage  at  their  door ; 
*•  And  if  his  horse  is  fat,  "  He  mrust  have   little  work  to 
do." 
And  If  it  's  lean  the  reason  is,  "  He  starves  the  poor  old  screw." 

Should  he  call  upon  his  patients  every  day  when  they  are  ill 
His  motive  plainly  is  "to  make  a  great  big  doctor's  bill," 
If  he  visits  them  less  frequently — thus  less'ning  their  expense — 
The  chances  are  he  '11  be  accused  of  willful  negligence. 

He  must  work  all  day  and  half  the  night,  and   never  say  he  's 

tired; 
For  the  public  look  upon  him  simply  as  a  servant  hired; 
And  should  he  take  a  holiday,  he  '11  find  when  he  comes  back 
Some  patients  have  resented  it  by  giving  him  "  the  sack." 

Concerning  money  he  must  seem  indifferent  to  be, 
And  folks  will  think  he  practices  from  pure  philanthrophy, 
When  we  hear  about  him  boasting  of  the  guineas  that  he  earns 
We  wonder  if  they  all  appear  in  his  income-tax  returns. 

About  his  own  afflictions  he  must  never  say  a  word; 
The  notion  of  a  doctor  being  ill  is  so  absurd  1 
And  when,  perhaps  from  overwork,  he  's  laid  upon  the  shelf, 
His  sympathizing  patients  say,  "  Physician,  heal  thyself!  " 

— Dr.  J.  Johnston. 


8i  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


In  the  Hospital 

OW  the  wind  yells  on  the  Gulf  and  prairie ! 

How  it  rattles  in  the  windows  wide ! 
And  the  rats  squeak  like  our  old  ship's  rigging ; 

I  shall  die  with  the  turn  of  tide. 


I  've  had  a  rough  life  on  the  ocean, 

And  a  tough  life  on  the  land ; 
Now  I  'm  like  a  broken  hulk  In  the  dock-yard, — 

I  can't  stir  foot  nor  hand. 

There  are  green  trees  in  the  Salem  graveyard 
By  the  meeting-house  steps  they  grow ; 

And  there  they  put  my  poor  old  mother, 
The  third  in  the  leeward  row. 

There  's  the  low  red  house  on  the  comer, 
With  a  slant  roof  and  a  wellsweep  behind, 

And  yellow-headed  fennel  in  the  garden, — 
How  I  see  it  when  I  go  blind ! 

I  wish  I  had  a  mug  of  cold  water 

From  the  bottom  of  that  old  curb-well. 

I  wish  my  mother's  face  was  here  alongside. 
While  I  hear  that  tolling  bell ! 

There  's  a  good  crop  of  corn  in  the  meadow. 
And  the  biggest  boy  a'n't  there  to  hoe ; 

They  '11  get  in  the  apples  and  the  pumpkins. 
But  I  've  done  my  last  chores  below. 

Don  't  you  hear  the  Norther  risin',  doctor? 

How  it  yells  and  hollers,  far  and  wide ! 
And  the  moon  's  a  shinin'  on  that  graveyard, — 

Hold  on.     I  'm  agoin'  with  the  tide. 

— Rose  Terry  Cooke. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  ANSWER  85 


The  Doctor's  Answer 

^     THANK  you  for  the  kindly  word 
'}  )  You  sent  to  me  when  first  you  heard 
^  That  something  ailed  me ; 

■  '  I  hope  you  don't  begrudge  me  ease 
As  badly  as  you  did  my  fees 

When  your  health  failed  ye. 


You  mourn,  you  say,  yet  chuckle,  too, 
As  many  mocking  mortals  do, 

To  see  my  illness. 
I  half  believe  it  is  in  spite 
That  I  the  doctors  can  invite 

And  yet  be  bill-less. 

'Tis  only  fair  when  I  must  feel 
The  ills  that  I  am  wont  to  steal 

From  others'  anguish, 
That  I  should  know  the  sweet  relief 
The  doctor's  potent  art  can  give 

To  those  that  languish. 

And  when  I  go  through  wet  or  dry 
To  answer  every  wailing  cry 

Till  sickness  floors  me, 
I  think  that  you  might  do  your  best 
To  give  a  little  needed  rest 

From  all  that  bores  me. 

Don't  touch  my  bell  or  telephone, 
Go  off  and  leave  me  quite  alone 

In  my  dominion; 
Nor  seek  to  visit  me  in  bed 
To  conjure  from  this  aching  head 

One  more  opinion. 


86  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Indeed,  my  pulse  I  never  count, 
Nor  watch  my  fever  though  it  mount 

Toward  disaster. 
I  let  my  doctor  tend  to  those  ; 
No  one  when  sick,  whate'er  he  knows. 

Himself  can  master. 

I  call  a  trusty  friend  or  two. 

And  let  them  say  what 's  best  to  do 

For  symptoms  fateful ; 
And  when  they  help  me  out  of  pain, 
And  put  me  on  my  feet  again, 

I  'm  duly  grateful. 

I  never  fret  and  fume  and  stew. 
As  some  that  you  may  know  of  do. 

But  take  my  rations ; 
For  watching  long  at  cases  slow. 
And  list'ning  to  your  tales  of  woe 

Have  taught  me  patience. 

About  the  nurse  that  I  would  like. 
The  care  to  take  and  fancy  strike — - 

Ah !     There  's  my  failing! 
A  neat,  sweet,  feat,  attractive  nurse 
I  like — no  better  and  no  worse 

Because  I  'm  ailing ! 

With  mien  serene  my  dose  1  sip, 
Then  into  "  Punch  "  I  take  a  dip 

My  ribs  to  tickle. 
Though  many  a  potent  drug  1  quaff. 
No  drug  is  better  than  the  laugh 

When  health  is  fickle. 

When  Health  or  Fortune  turn  their  backs. 
And  want  assails,  or  suffering  racks 

Me  for  awhile. 
Whatever  else  I  use  as  aids, 
I  joke  and  chuckle  at  the  jades 

Till  again  they  smile. 

Dr.  Samuel  W.  Kelley, 


PROFESSIONS-PHYSIC  87 


Professions—  Physic 

The  worth  and  Excellence  of  the  true  Physician— Merit,  not 
the  sole  Cause  of  Success— Modes  of  advancing  Reputation- 
Motives  of  Medical  Men  for  publishing  their  Works— The  great 
evil  of  Quackery— Present  state  of  advertising  Quacks— Their 
Hazard— Some  fail,  and  why— Causes  of  Success— How  Men  of 
understanding  are  prevailed  upon  to  have  Recourse  to  Empirics, 
and  to  permit  their  names  to  he  advertised— Evils  of  Quackery :  to 
nervous  Females :  to  Youth:  to  Infants— History  of  an  Advertis- 
ing Empiric,  Etc. 


EXT,  to  a  graver  tribe  we  turn  our  view, 

And  yield  the  praise  to  worth  and  science  due ; 
f^  /      But  this  with  serious  words  and  sober  style, 

For  these  are  friends  with  whom  we  seldom  smile. 
Helpers  of  Men  they  're  called,  and  we  confess 
Theirs  the  deep  study,  theirs  the  lucky  guess ; 
We  own  that  numbers  join  with  care  and  skill, 
A  temperate  judgment,  a  devoted  will ; 
Men  who  suppress  their  feelings,  but  who  feel 
The  painful  symptoms  they  delight  to  heal ; 
Patient  in  all  their  trials,  they  sustain 
The  starts  of  passion,  the  reproach  of  pain, 
With  hearts  affected,  but  with  looks  serene  ; 
Intent  they  wait  through  all  the  solemn  scene. 
Glad  if  a  hope  should  rise  from  nature's  strife, 
To  aid  their  skill  and  save  the  lingering  life ; 
But  this  must  virtiie's  generous  effort  be. 
And  spring  from  nobler  motives  than  a  fee : 
To  the  Physician  of  the  Soul,  and  these. 
Turn  the  distressed  for  safety,  hope,  and  ease. 

But  as  physicians  of  that  nobler  kind 
Have  their  warm  zealots,  and  their  sectaries: 
So  among  these  for  knowledge  most  renowned. 
Are  dreamers  strange,  and  stubborn  bigots  found: 


88  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Some,  too,  admitted  to  this  honored  name. 

Have,  without  learning,  found  a  way  to  fame ; 

And  some  by  learning — young  physicians  write, 

To  set  their  merit  in  the  fairest  light ; 

With  them  a  treatise  is  a  bait  that  draws 

Approving  voices — 'tis  to  gain  applause. 

And  to  exalt  them  in  the  public  view, 

More  than  a  life  of  worthy  toil  could  do. 

When  'tis  proposed  to  make  the  man  renowned, 

In  every  age,  convenient  doubts  abound ; 

Convenient  themes  in  every  period  start, 

Which  he  may  treat  with  all  the  pomp  of  art : 

Curious  conjectures  he  may  always  make. 

And  either  side  of  dubious  questions  take  : 

He  may  a  system  broach,  or,  if  he  please. 

Start  new  opinions  of  an  old  disease  ; 

Or  may  some  simple  in  the  woodland  trace, 

And  be  its  patron,  till  it  runs  its  race  ; 

As  rustic  damsels  from  their  woods  are  won, 

And  live  in  splendor  till  their  race  be  run  ; 

It  weighs  not  much  on  what  their  powers  be  shown 

When  all  his  purpose  is  to  make  them  known. 

To  show  the  world  what  long  experience  gains. 
Requires  not  courage,  though  it  calls  for  pains; 
But  at  life's  outset  to  inform  mankind, 
Is  a  bold  effort  of  a  valiant  mind. 

The  great  good  man,  for  noblest  cause  displays 
What  many  labors  taught,  and  many  days; 
These  sound  instruction  from  experience  give. 
The  others  show  us  how  they  mean  to  live. 
That  they  have  genius,  and  they  hope  mankind 
Will  to  its  efforts  be  no  longer  blind. 

There  are,  beside,  whom  powerful  friends  advance 
Whom  fashion  favors,  person,  patrons,  chance  : 
And  merit  sighs  to  see  a  fortune  made 
By  daring  rashness  or  by  dull  parade. 

But  these  are  trifling  evils ;  there  is  one 
Which  walks  unchecked,  and  triumphs  in  the  sun. 
There  was  a  time  when  we  beheld  the  Quack, 
On  public  stage,  the  licensed  trade  attack ; 


PROFESSIONS-PHYSIC  89 

He  made  his  labored  speech  with  poor  parade. 
And  then  a  laughing  zany  lent  him  aid  : 
Smiling  we  passed  him,  but  we  felt  the  while 
Pity  so  much,  that  soon  we  ceased  to  smile; 
Assured  that  fluent  speech  and  flowery  vest 
Disguised  the  troubles  of  a  man  distressed: — 

But  now  our  Quacks  are  gamesters,  and  they  play 
With  craft  and  skill  to  ruin  and  betray; 
With  monstrous  promise  they  delude  the  mind, 
And  thrive  on  all  that  tortures  humankind. 

Void  of  all  honor,  avaricious,  rash, 
The  daring  tribe  compound  their  boasted  trash — 
Tincture  of  syrup,  lotion,  drop  or  pill; 
All  tempt  the  sick  to  trust  the  lying  bill ; 
And  twenty  names  of  cobblers  turned  to  squires, 
Aid  the  bold  language  of  these  blushless  liars. 
There  are  among  them  those  who  cannot  read. 
And  yet  they'll  buy  a  patent,  and  succeed  ; 
Will  dare  to  promise  dying  sufferers  aid, 
For  who,  when  dead,  can  threaten  or  upbraid 
With  cruel  avarice  still  they  recommend 
More  draughts,  more  syrup  to  the  journey's  end  : 
••  I  feel  it  not;" — Then  take  it  every  hour:" 
•'  It  makes  me  worse;" — Why  then  it  shows  Its  power:" 
♦•  I  fear  to  die;" — Let  not  your  spirits  sink, 
You're  always  safe,  while  you  believe  and  drink." 

How  strange  to  add,  in  this  nefarious  trade. 
That  men  of  parts  are  dupes  by  dunces  made: 
That  creatures,  nature  meant  should  clean  our  streets. 
Have  purchased  lands  and  mansions,  parks  and  seats 
Wretches  with  conscience  so  obtuse,  they  leave 
Their  untaught  sons  their  parents  to  deceive  ; 
And  when  they're  laid  upon  their  dying  bed. 
No  thought  of  murder  comes  into  their  head; 
Nor  one  revengeful  ghost  to  them  appears. 
To  fill  the  soul  with  penitential  fears. 

Yet  not  the  whole  of  this  imposing  train 
Their  gardens,  seats,  and  carriages  obtain  ; 
Chiefly,  indeed,  they  to  the  robbers  fall. 
Who  are  most  fitted  to  disgrace  them  all; 


90  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW. 

But  there  is  hazard — patents  must  be  bought 
Venders  and  puffers  for  the  poison  sought ; 
And  then  in  many  a  paper  through  the  year, 
Must  cures  and  cases,  oaths  and  proofs  appear ; 
Men  snatched  from  graves,  as  they  were  dropping  In. 
Their  lungs  coughed  up,  their  bones  pierced  through 

their  skin  ; 
Their  Hver  all  one  sclfrhus,  and  the  frame 
Poisoned  with  evils  which  they  dare  not  name  ; 
Men  who  spent  all  upon  physicians'  fees, 
Who  never  slept,  nor  had  a  moment's  ease. 
Are  now  as  roaches  sound,  and  all  as  brisk  as  bees 

If  the  sick  gudgeons  to  the  bait  attend, 
And  come  in  shoals,  the  angler  gains  his  end. 
But  should  the  advertising  cash  be  spent. 
Ere  yet  the  town  has  due  attention  lent. 
Then  bursts  the  bubble,  and  the  hungry  cheat 
Pines  for  the  bread  he  ill  deserves  to  eat : 
It  is  a  lottery,  and  he  shares  perhaps 
The  rich  man's  feast,  or  begs  the  pauper's  scraps. 

From  powerful  causes  spring  th'  empiric's  gains, 
Man's  love  of  life,  his  weakness,  and  his  pains  ; 
These  first  induce  him  the  vile  trash  to  try. 
Then  lend  his  name,  that  other  men  may  buy : 
This  love  of  life,  which  in  our  nature  rules. 
To  vile  imposture  makes  us  dupes  and  tools ; 
Then  pain  compels  th'  impatient  soul  to  seize 
On  promised  hopes  of  instantaneous  ease  ; 
And  weakness  too  with  every  wish  complies. 
Worn  out  and  won  by  importunities. 

Troubled  with  something  in  your  bile  or  blood. 
You  think  your  doctor  does  you  little  good ; 
And  grown  impatient,  you  require  in  haste 
The  nervous  cordial,  nor  dislike  the  taste  ; 
It  comforts,  heals,  and  strengthens:  nay.  you  think 
It  makes  you  better  every  time  you  drink  ; 
"Then  lend  your  name  " — you're  loth,  but  yet  confess 
Its  powers  are  great,  and  so  you  acquiesce  : 
Yet  think  a  moment,  ere  your  name  you  lend, 
With  whose  'tis  placed,  and  what  you  recommend  , 


PROFESSIONS-PHYSIC  91 

Who  tipples  brandy  will  some  comfort  feel, 
But  will  he  to  the  med'cine  set  his  seal? 
Wait,  and  you'll  find  the  cordial  you  admire 
Has  added  fuel  to  your  fever's  fire : 
Say,  should  a  robber  chance  your  purse  to  spare, 
Would  you  the  honor  of  the  man  declare  ? 
Would  you  assist  his  purpose  ?  swell  his  crime  f 
Besides  he  might  not  spare  a  second  time. 

Comipassion  sometimes  sets  the  fatal  sign, 
The  man  was  poor,  and  humbly  begged  a  line, 
Else  how  should  noble  names  and  titles  back 
The  spreading  praise  of  some  advent'rous  quack  ? 
But  he  the  moment  watches,  and  entreats 
Your  honor's  name — your  honor  joins  the  cheats. 
You  judged  the  med'cine  harmless,  and  you  lent 
What  help  you  could,  and  with  the  best  intent ; 
But  can  it  please  you,  thus  to  league  with  all 
Whom  he  can  beg  or  bribe  to  swell  the  scrawl? 
Would  you  these  wrappers  with  your  name  adorn. 
Which  hold  the  poison  for  the  yet  unborn? 

No  class  escapes  them — from  the  poor  man's  pay. 
The  nostrum  takes  no  trifling  part  away ; 
See  !  those  square  patent  bottles  from  the  shop 
Now  decoration  to  the  cupboard's  top  ; 
And  there  a  favorite  hoard  you'll  find  within. 
Companions  meet !  the  julep  and  the  gin. 

Time  too  with  cash  is  wasted ;  tis  the  fate 
Of  real  helpers  to  be  called  too  late  ; 
This  find  the  sick,  when  (time  and  patience  gone) 
Death  with  a  tenfold  terror  hurries  on. 

Suppose  the  case  surpasses  human  skill, 
There  comes  a  quack  to  flatter  weakness  still ; 
What  greater  evil  can  a  flatterer  do. 
Than  from  himself  to  take  the  sufferer's  view? 
To  turn  from  sacred  thoughts  his  reasoning  powers 
And  rob  a  sinner  of  his  dying  hours? 
Yet  this  they  dare,  and  craving  to  the  last, 
In  hope's  strong  bondage  hold  their  victim  fast: 
For  soul  or  body  no  concern  have  they. 
All  their  inquiry,  "  Can  the  patient  pay  ? 


92  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  will  he  swallow  draughts  until  his  dying  day?  " 

Observe  what  ills  to  nervous  females  flow. 
When  the  heart  flutters  and  the  pulse  is  low ; 
If  once  induced  these  cordial  sips  to  try, 
All  feel  the  ease,  and  few  the  danger  fly; 
For,  while  obtained  of  drams  they've  all  the  force. 
And  when  denied,  then  drams  are  the  resource. 

Nor  these  the  only  evils — there  are  those 
Who  for  the  troubled  mind  prepare  repose  ; 
They  write,  the  young  are  tenderly  addressed, 
Much  danger  hinted,  much  concern  expressed  ; 
They  dwell  on  freedoms  lads  are  prone  to  take, 
Which  makes  the  doctor  tremble  for  their  sake  ; 
Still  if  the  youthful  patient  will  but  trust 
In  one  so  kind,  so  pitiful  and  just ; 
If  he  will  take  the  tonic  all  the  time, 
And  hold  but  moderate  intercourse  with  crime ; 
The  sage  will  gravely  give  his  honest  word. 
That  strength  and  spirits  shall  be  both  restored: 
In  plainer  English — if  you  mean  to  sin. 
Fly  to  the  drops,  and  instantly  begin. 

Who  would  not  lend  a  sympathizing  sigh, 
To  hear  yon  infant's  pity-moving  cry? 
That  feeble  sob,  unlike  the  new-born  note, 
Which  came  with  vigor  from  the  op'ning  throat; 
When  air  and  light  first  rushed  on  lungs  and  eyes, 
And  there  was  life  and  spirit  in  the  cries  ; 
Now  an  abortive,  faint  attempt  to  weep; 
Is  all  we  hear;  sensation  is  asleep: 
The  boy  was  healthy,  and  at  first  expressed 
His  feelings  loudly  when  he  failed  to  rest. 
When  crammed  with  food,  and  tightened  every  limb 
To  cry  aloud,  was  what  pertained  to  him. 
Then  the  good  nurse,  (who,  had  she  borne  a  brain 
Had  sought  the  cause  that  made  her  babe  complain.) 
Has  all  her  efforts,  loving  soul,  applied 
To  set  the  cry,  and  not  the  cause,  aside  ; 
She  gave  her  powerful  sweet  without  remorse, 
The  sleeping  cordial — she  had  tried  its  force. 


PROFESSIONS-PHYSICS  93 

Repeating  oft :  the  infant,  freed  from  pain, 
Rejected  food,  but  took  the  dose  again. 
Sinking  to  sleep;  while  she  her  joy  expressed. 
That  her  dear  charge  could  sweetly  take  his  rest : 
Soon  may  she  spare  her  cordial ;  not  a  doubt 
Remains,  but  quickly  he  will  rest  without. 

This  moves  our  grief  and  pity,  and  we  sigh 
To  think  what  numbers  from  these  causes  die ; 
But  what  contempt  and  anger  should  we  show. 
Did  we  the  lives  of  these  imposters  know! 

Ere  for  the  world's  I  left  the  cares  of  school. 
One  1  remember  who  assumed  the  fool ; 
A  part  well  suited — when  the  idler  boys 
Would  shout  around  him,  and  he  loved  the  noise  : 
They  called  him  Neddy: — Neddy  had  the  art 
To  play  with  skill  his  ignominious  part ; 
When  he  his  trifles  would  for  sale  display, 
And  act  the  mimic  for  a  school  boy's  pay. 
For  many  years  he  plied  his  humble  trade. 
And  used  his  tricks  and  talents  to  persuade ; 
The  fellow  barely  read,  but  chanced  to  look 
Among  the  fragments  of  a  tattered  book ; 
Where,  after  many  efforts  made  to  spell 
One  puzzling  word,  he  found  it  oxymel; 
A  potent  thing,  't  was  said  to  cure  the  ills 
Of  ailing  lungs — the  oxymel  of  squills ; 
Squills  he  procured  but  found  the  bitter  strong 
And  most  unpleasant ;  none  would  take  it  long ; 
But  the  pure  acid  and  the  sweet  would  make 
A  medicine  numbers  would  for  pleasure  take. 

There  was  a  fellow  near,  an  artful  knave, 
Who  knew  the  plan,  and  much  assistance  gave; 
He  wrote  the  puffs,  and  every  talent  plied 
10  make  it  sell ;  it  sold  and  then  he  died. 

Now  all  the  profit  fell  to  Ned's  control, 
And  Pride  and  Avarice  quarreled  for  his  soul; 
When  mighty  profits  by  the  trash  were  made. 
Pride  built  a  palace.  Avarice  groaned  and  paid; 
Pride  placed  the  signs  of  grandeur  all  about. 
And  Avarice  barred  his  friends  and  children  out. 


94  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Now  see  him  Doctor !  yes,  the  idle  fool. 
The  butt,  the  robber  of  the  lads  at  school; 
Who  then  knew  nothing,  nothing  since  acquired, 
Became  a  doctor,  honored  and  admired; 
His  dress,  his  frown,  his  dignity  were  such, 
Some  who  had  known  him  thought  his  knowledge  much. 
Nay.  men  of  skill,  of  apprehension  quick. 
Spite  of  their  knowledge,  trusted  him  when  sick. 
Though  he  could  neither  reason,  write,  nor  spell. 
They  yet  had  hope  his  trash  would  make  them  well : 
And  while  they  scorned  his  parts,  they  took  his  oxymel. 
Oh !  when  his  nerves  had  once  received  a  shock, 
Sir  Isaac  Newton  might  have  gone  to  Rock : 
Hence  impositions  of  the  grossest' kind, 
Hence  thought  is  feeble,  understanding  blind  ; 
Hence  sums  enormous  by  those  cheats  are  made. 
And  deaths  unnumbered  by  their  dreadful  trade. 

Alas!  in  vain  is  my  contempt  expressed. 
To  stronger  passions  are  their  words  addressed ; 
To  pain,  to  fear,  to  terror,  their  appeal. 
To  those  who,  weakly  reasoning,  strongly  feel. 

What  then  our  hopes  ? — perhaps  there  may  by  law 
Be  method  found,  these  pests  to  curb  and  awe; 
Yet  in  this  land  of  freedom,  law  is  slack 
With  any  being  to  commence  attack: 
Then  let  us  trust  to  science — there  are  those 
Who  can  their  falsehoods  and  their  frauds  disclose. 
All  their  vile  trash  detect  and  their  low  tricks  expose 
Perhaps  their  numbers  may  in  time  confound 
Their  arts^ — as  scorpions  give  themselves  the  wound  ; 
For  when  these  curers  dwell  in  every  place, 
While  of  the  cured  we  not  a  man  can  trace, 
Strong  truth  may  then  the  public  mind  persuade 
And  spoil  the  fruits  of  this  nefarious  trade. 

-—George  Crabbe. 


ON  DR.  LETTSOM,  BY  HIMSELF  95 


Lines  by  a  Lunatic  M.  D. 

H  I  fair  are  the  halls  where  stern  Peritonitis 
Makes  love  to  M  iss  Asthma,  and  courts  the  Catarrh. 

Where  the  bright  Influenza  is  wooed  by  Iritis, 
And  Psora  joins  Measles  in  ••  Beautiful  Star." 

Oh !  bright  gleam  the  eyes  of  that  flirt  Erythema. 

And  lightly  Pneumonia  whirls  round  in  the  dance. 
Pleuritis  is  madly  in  love  with  CEdema, 

And  Herpes  courts  Cholera  with  amorous  glance. 

And  old  Mrs.  Scabies  told  Mr.  Phlebitis 

She'd  brought  Melanosis  at  last  to  the  point ; 

You  know  he's  six  thousand  a  year ;  (Laryngitis 
Will  find  that  his  nose  is  a  bit  out  of  joint) . 

Long,  long  I  shall  dream  of  that  pet  Scarlatina  ; 

She  gave  me  a  rose  from  her  rash  at  the  ball. 
On  that  thrice-happy  night  when  Miss  Gutta  Serena 

Kissed  Captain  Psoriasis  out  in  the  hall. 

Adieu !  sweet  Chorea  !  Farewell !  Carcinoma  ! 

Hysteria  !     My  heart  with  emotion  doth  swell, 
That  heart.  Anasarca,  is  thine  ;  Atheroma 

And  bonny  Neuralgia,  a  lasting  farewell  1 

H.  Savile  Clarke. 


On  Dr.  Lettsom,  by  Himself 

WHEN  people  's  111,  they  comes  to  I. 
I  physics,  bleeds,  and  sweats  'em ; 
Sometimes  they  live,  sometimes  they  die. 
What 's  that  to  1  ?     I  lets  'em. 

— John  Coakley  Lettsom. 


96  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Village  Doctor 

SEE  him  still,  as  erst  of  yore. 
'}|j      With  furrowed  cheek  and  whitened  brow, 
Though  he  's  been  dead  of  years  a  score. 
I  see  him  stand  before  me  now. 

I  seem  to  see  his  withered  form 

Beside  his  faithful  white-faced  mare. 

With  old  brown  saddle-bags  behind. 
Whose  odor  'twas  a  grief  to  bear. 

With  chronic  cough  I  hear  him  pass- 
He  digs  his  steed  with  vigorous  heel. 

Whose  callous  sides,  from  daily  thumps, 
Had  long  since  lost  the  power  to  feel. 

The  constant  grin  upon  his  face — 
His  light  "  te-he !  "  at  human  pain. 

As  oft  he  wrenched  the  offending  tooth, 
Our  memory  ever  will  retain. 

But  deeply  down  within  his  breast, 
Beneath  a  mail-like  Milan  steel, 

'Twas  said  by  those  who  knew  him  best. 
"The  doctor  has  a  heart  to  feel." 

'Twas  in  the  old  Green  Mountain  State. 

'Mid  deep,  dread  winter's  drifting  snow, 
The  evening  hour  was  waxing  late, 

Some  forty  years  or  more  ago. 

We  sat  around  the  ample  hearth, 

Where  maple  logs  were  blazing  bright', 

Glad  songs  arose,  and  social  mirth 
Upon  that  dismal  winter  night 


THE  VILLAGE  DOCTOR  97 

The  storm-cloud  hung  on  Mansfield's  brow — 

The  wind  blew  piercingly  and  chill ; 
Fierce  through  the  leafless  branches  shrieked, 

And  roared  along  the  fir-clad  hill. 

The  deep'ning  snow  that  all  day  long 

Had  fallen  silently  and  fast, 
Now  densely  filled  the  frosty  air, 

And  piled  in  drifts  before  the  blast. 

And  still  we  sat — the  hours  sped — 

The  storm  increased  with  fearful  might ; — 

"  I  hope,"  our  tender  mother  said. 

"  No  one's  abroad  this  dreadful  night." 

Our  mother's  voice  had  hardly  ceased, 
When  sudden  through  the  opening  door. 

O'er  drifts,  the  quaint  old  doctor  sprung, 
And  forward  fell  upon  the  floor. 

His  brow  was  crusted  o'er  with  ice. 
And  crisp  and  frozen  was  his  cheek ; 

His  limbs  were  paralyzed  with  cold  ; 
For  once,  the  doctor  could  not  speak. 

With  genial  warmth,  and  tender  care. 

He  soon  revived,  and  said:     "  Come  Bill, 

Be  kind  enough  to  get  my  mare, — 
I  must  reach  Martin's,  on  the  hill." 

Then  on  again,  o'er  trackless  snow. 

Against  the  biting  winter  blast. 
Without  the  hope  of  worldly  gain. 

Through  mountain  drifts,  the  doctor  passed. 

Far  up  the  winding  mountain  road. 

Through  forest  dark  and  blinding  snow, 
He  reached  the  desolate  abode 

Of  sickness,  poverty  and  woe. 

5-7 


98  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Long  years  have  passed ;  yet  oft  I  ask, 
As  howls  the  tempest  in  its  might, 

While  sitting  by  the  evening  fire, 

••What  faithful  doctor  rides  tonight?" 

Yes,  faithful ;  though  full  well  I  know 
The  world  is  sparing  of  Its  praise ; 

And  these  self-sacrificing  men 
But  seldom  tempt  the  poet's  lays. 

And  yet,  I  trust,  when  at  the  last. 

They  leave  the  world  of  human  strife. 
Like  him  "who  loved  his  fellow  men," 

Their  names  shall  grace  the  Book  of  Life. 

— Samuel  Slayton  Luce. 


Bessie  Brown,  M.  D. 


1 


y  *WAS  April  when  she  came  to  town ; 
'^  The  birds  had  come,  the  bees  were  swarming. 


Her  name,  she  said,  was  Doctor  Brown; 
.  ?*    I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  charming. 
She  took  a  cottage  tinted  green. 

Where  dewy  roses  loved  to  mingle ; 
And  on  the  door,  next  day,  was  seen 
A  dainty  little  shingle. 

Her  hair  was  like  an  amber  wreath ; 

Her  hat  was  darker,  to  enhance  it.  ' 
The  violet  eyes  that  glowed  beneath 

Were  brighter  than  her  keenest  lancet. 
The  beauties  of  her  glove  and  gown 

The  sweetest  rhyme  would  fail  to  utter. 
Ere  she  had  been  a  day  in  town 

The  town  was  in  a  flutter. 


BESSIE  BROWN,  M.  D.  99 

The  gallants  viewed  her  feet  and  hands. 

And  swore  they  never  saw  such  wee  things ; 
The  gossips  met  in  purring  bands 

And  tore  her  piecemeal  o'er  the  tea-things. 
The  former  drank  the  Doctor's  health 

With  clinking  cups,  the  gay  carousers; 
The  latter  watched  her  door  by  stealth 

Just  like  so  many  mousers. 

But  Doctor  Bessie  went  her  way 

Unmindful  of  the  spiteful  cronies, 
And  drove  her  buggy  every  day 

Behind  a  dashing  pair  of  ponies. 
Her  flower-like  face  so  bright  she  bore, 

I  hoped  that  time  might  never  wilt  her. 
The  way  she  tripped  across  the  floor 

Was  better  than  a  philter. 

Her  patients  thronged  the  village  street; 

Her  snowy  slate  was  always  quite  full. 
Some  said  her  bitters  tasted  sweet, 

And  some  pronounced  her  pills  delightful. 
'Twas  strange — I  knew  not  what  it  meant — 

She  seemed  a  nymph  from  Eldorado ; 
Where'er  she  came,  where'er  she  went. 

Grief  lost  its  gloomy  shadow. 

Like  all  the  rest,  1,  too,  grew  ill ; 

My  aching  heart  there  was  no  quelling. 
I  tremble  at  my  doctor's  bill, — 

And  lo !  the  items  still  are  swelling. 
The  drugs  I  've  drunk  you  'd  weep  to  hear ! 

They  've  quite  enriched  the  fatr  concoctor. 
And  I  'm  a  ruined  man,  I  fear, 

Unless — I  wed  the  Doctor. 

— Samuel  Minturn  Peck. 


100  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Rabelais  and  The  Lampreys 


W 


'HEN  the  eccentric  Rabelais  was  phys- 
ician 
To  Cardinal  Lorraine,  he  sat  at  dinner 
Beside  that  gormandizing  sinner; 
Not  like  the  medical  magician, 
Who  whisked  from  Sancho  Panza's  fauces 
The  evanescent  meats  and  sauces, 
But  to  protect  his  sacred  master 
Against  such  diet  as  obstructs 
The  action  of  the  epigastre, 

O'erloads  the  biliary  ducts. 
The  peristaltic  motion  crosses, 
And  puzzles  the  digestive  process. 

The  Cardinal,  one  hungry  day. 

First  having  with  his  eyes  consumed 
Some  lampreys  that  before  him  fumed, 

Had  plunged  his  fork  into  the  prey, 

When  Rabelais  gravely  shook  his  head. 
Tapped  on  his  plate  three  times  and  said — 

"  Pah !     Hard  digestion  I  hard  digestion  !  " 
And  his  bile-dreading  Eminence, 
Though  sorely  tempted,  had  the  sense 

To  send  it  off  without  a  question. 

"  Hip  !     Hullo  !  bring  the  lampreys  here  !  " 
Cried  Rabelais,  as  the  dish  he  snatched ; 

And  gobbling  up  the  dainty  cheer, 
The  whole  was  instantly  despatched. 

Reddened  with  vain  attempt  at  stifling 

At  once  his  wrath  and  appetite, 
His  patron  cried,  "  Your  conduct 's  rude, 
This  is  no  subject.slr,  for  trifling ; 


THE  DOCTOR'S  WALK  lOt 

How  dare  you  designate  this  food 
As  indigestible  and  crude;  :  '  '   ..'         ''\  \'' 
Then  swallow  it  before  my  sight  ?  "  ' 

Quoth  Rabelais,  "It  rnay  soon  be  shown 

That  I  don't  merit  th'5;  rebuff : 
I  tapped  ihe  plat  e,  send  that  you  '1*.  own 

Is  indigestible  enough ; 
But  as  to  this  unlucky  fish, 

With  you  so  strangely  out  of  favor, 
Not  only  'tis  a  wholesome  dish, 

But  one  of  most  delicious  flavor !  " 

— Horace  Smith. 


The  Doctor's  Walk 


T  midnight  oft  I  go, 

Lost  in  vague  reverie, 
To  where  some  lamp's  faint  glow 
*•      Tells  there  the  sufferers  be. 


In  through  the  window-pane 

I  look,  and  call  to  mind 
The  remedies  again 
1  vainly  sought  to  find. 

A  rustling  sound  I  catch 

Within,  close  to  the  door; 
A  dead  man  lifts  the  latch 

And  silent  scans  me  o  'er. 

My  dog  with  angry  bark 

Forbids  the  unwelcome  guest, 
While  I  pass  in  the  dark 

By  memory  oppressed. 

— Andreas  Justin  Kerner. 


102  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW. 


Old  Gaffer  von  Gunther 


COHERE  hangs  in  my  office,  just  back  of  the  door, 
'i^  A  picture  by  Solomon,  painted  of  yore. 


In  the  days  long  departed,  a  time  and  age  when, 
.     The  doctor  was  counted  the  greatest  of  men. 
Old  Gaffer  von  Gunther  (I  guess  that 's  his  name, 
Though  history  nowhere  refers  to  his  fame) 
Sits  propped  up  in  pillows  adjusted  with  care. 
In  the  arms  of  an  ancient  baronial  chair; 
His  feet  cased  in  slippers,  his  face  in  a  frown, 
His  head  in  a  bandage,  his  legs  in  a  gown. 
His  skull  like  a  foot  ball,  denuded  of  hair. 
While  his  face  is  the  picture  of  woe  and  despair. 
On  his  left  sits  the  doctor  as  pompous  and  great 
As  a  cardinal  burdened  with  secrets  of  state. 
And  bursting  with  impulse  to  let  them  all  out, 
And  see  his  King  tremble  and  hear  the  mob  shout. 
While  patient  and  doctor  look  grave  as  the  grave. 
One  craving  salvation,  one  power  to  save. 
This  pompous  old  doctor  with  powdered  perui^e 
And  ruffs  like  a  Duchess  and  rings  like  a  Duke, 
With  velvet  knee  breeches  and  long  silken  hose. 
And  silver  shoe  buckles  and  red  shining  nose. 
Sits  there  with  his  finger  on  von  Gunther's  wrist. 
And  looks  at  his  time-piece  like  one  keeping  tryst. 
His  face  is  a  study  for  painters,  I  ween — 
A  slight  hint  of  jesting,  a  quizzical  mien — 
A  shadow  of  dolor,  a  quick  glance  of  mirth, 
A  solemn  demeanor,  like  men  wear  at  birth. 
His  eye  fixed  on — nothing  hung  up  in  the  air. 
Like  one  who  is  dreaming  nor  foul  dreams  nor  fair. 
His  staff  half  reclining  leans  back  on  his  chair. 
His  cocked  hat  close  by  him,  one  foot  in  the  air 
And  hanging  just  over  a  well-rounded  knee, 


OLD  GAFFER  VON  GUNTHER  103 

Where  trunk-hose  and  stockings  are  mot  and  agree 

Across  from  the  doctor,  near  old  Gaffer's  chair. 

A  medical  student  well-favored  and  fair 

Is  counting  his  pulse-beats  and  wondering  why 

A  man  with  such  pulses  should  think  he  might  die. 

And  close  by  the  student,  with  exqu'.s'ite  grace, 

A  coy  little  maiden,  with  smiles  on  her  face, 

A  cap  on  her  ringlets,  a  bodice  of  blue, 

A  kirtle  to  match  and  a  dream  of  a  shoe, 

Is  brewing  a  tankard  of  something  so  rare 

That  the  pompous  old  Doctor  and  student  so  fair 

Wear  glorified  faces,  like  monks  when  they  pray, 

And  sniff  at  the  fragrance  well  knowing  that  they 

Will  sample  the  nectar  and  do  it  in  haste 

Before  poor  old  Gaffer  comes  in  for  a  taste — 

For  doctor  and  student  have  never  been  seen 

To  take  the  last  pull  from  a  jug  or  canteen. 

But  times  out  of  record  at  dinner  or  lunch 

They  lead  the  whole  rabble  from  roast  beef  to  punch. 

While  Gaffer  von  Gunther,  with  woe-begone  look. 

Stares  up  at  the  student  and  glares  at  the  cook. 

The  tankard  of  toddy,  o'erflowing  its  brink. 

Is  passed  to  the  doctor,  who  takes  a  big  drink, 

Then  says,  very  coolly,  "  the  stuff  is  too  hot 

For  a  man  with  a  stomach  like  Gunther  has  got." 

And  orders  the  student  to  ladle  it  out 

From  tankard  to  beaker,  from  nozzle  to  spout. 

Till,  coming  at  last  into  Gaffer's  own  cup. 

The  student  and  lady  may  both  take  a  sup ; 

Then  the  doctor  cries  out,  with  a  smile  and  a  wink, 

"Ah,  Gaffer,  that  's  good!   Now,  brace  up  and  drink!" 

And  then  I  can  fancy  they  chatter  and  laugh, 

And  praise  up  the  toddy  which  all  of  them  quaff. 

While  doctor  and  student  go  off  with  an  air 

Of  "knowledge  abundant,  enough  and  to  spare:" 

And  old  Doctor  Pompous  is  heard  to  declare, 

"  The  man  has  le  maladie  imaginaire  !" 

— Dr.  Henry  W.  Roby 


104  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Doctor  Brighton 


"  One  of  the  best  physicians  our  city  ever  knew  is  kind,  ebeer- 
fal,  merry,  Doctor  Brighton.'' — The  Newcomes. 

SCENE. — king's    road,    BRIGHTON. 

THE    COLONEL.       BERYL    (HIS    NIECe)  . 

THE    COLONEL. 


■■     I  r ''HOUGH  long  it  is  since  Titmarsh  wrote  ; 

1  'f^       His  good  advice  we  still  remember, 

^       When  bad  catarrh  and  rugged  throat 

-  ^        Are  rife  in  town  in  grey  November  I 
So,  if  your  temper  's  short  or  bad. 

Or  of  engagements  you  are  full,  man; 
Or  if  you  're  feeling  bored  or  sad, 

Make  haste  and  get  aboard  the  Pullman ! 
And  throw  all  physic  to  the  dogs — 

If  life's  sad  burden  you  would  lighten — 
Run  quick  away  from  London  fogs 

And  call  in  cheerful  Doctor  Brighton ! 

BERYL. 

Good  Doctor  Brighton,  a  mighty  magician  Is, 

See  him  at  once,  howe'er  bad  you  may  be ! 
Take  his  advice — there  no  better  physician  is — 

Naught  is  his  physic  but  Sunshine  and  Sea  ! 
Come  down  at  once  then!     Leave   London  in  hazy 
time. 

Leave  it  enshrouded  in  yellow  and  brown  1 
Come  here  and  revel  in  exquisite  lazy  time. 

Flee  from  the  turmoil  and  taint  of  the  town ! 
Blue  is  the  sky  and  the  sunshine  is  glorious, 

Charged  is  the  air  with  delicious  ozone  : 
Gay  is  the  cliff  and  most  gentle  is  Boreas, 

Come  down  at  once  and  recover  your  "  tone  !  " 


DOCTOR  BRIGHTON  105 

THE    COLONEL. 

Though  many  years  have  passed  away, 

And  countless  cares  to  not  a  few  come, 
The  place  is  bright  as  in  the  day 

Of  Ethel,  Clive,  and  Colonel  Newcome: 
The  East  Street  shops  are  just  as  gay. 

The  turtle  still  Is  good  at  Mutton's; 
The  buns  at  Streeter's — so  they  say — 

As  well-beloved  by  tiny  gluttons  1 
You  still  can  gallop  o'er  the  Down, 

Or  swim  at  Brill's  just  like  a  Triton. 
A  smile  will  supersede  your  frown 

When  you  consult  kind  Doctor  Brighton  I 

BERYL, 

Here  is  Mama  looking  anxious  and  serious: 

List  to  the  patter  of  smartly  shod  feet ! 
Dainty  young  damsels,  whose  faces  ne'er  weary  us 

Tailor-made  dresses  delightfully  neat  1 
Angular  ladies  in  gloomy  assthetic  coats, 

Maudle  and  dawdle  the  afternoon  through ; 
Graceful  girlettes  in  the  shortest  of  petticoats. 

Flutter  their  frills  as  they  walk  two-and-two. 
Fur-coated  beauties  in  carriages  roll  about 

Jaded  M.  P.'s  try  to  trot  away  cares. 
Dandies  and  poets  and  loungers  here  stroll  about. 

Dignified  dowagers  bask  in  Bath-chairs ! 

THE    COLONEL. 

Though  cynics  swear  all  pleasures  fade. 

And  cry,  O  tempora  mutantur  1 
The  bonny  laughing  Light  Brigade, 

Still  on  the  Kind's  Road  gaily  canter  ! 
And  yet  upon  the  Lawns  and  Pier, 

Do  lots  of  pleasant  folk  commingle  ; 
While  still  the  old,  old  song  we  hear — 

The  lullaby  of  surf  on  shingle  ! 


106  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Then  let 's  remain  to  laugh  and  laze, 
Where  light  and  air  enjoyment  heighten — 

Too  short  the  hours,  too  few  the  days, 
We  pass  with  merry  Doctor  Brighton ! 

— J.  Ashby-Sterry. 


An  Old  Skull 

T    T  NDER  a  tree,  in  a  grassy  glade, 
/  /^     Delved  I  deep,  with  a  well-worn  spade, 
I']       And  there,  half-hid  in  the  soil,  I  saw 
^l—^  A  row  of  teeth  and  a  lower  jaw, 
'Twas  a  skull  all  gray  and  grinning. 

With  a  bit  of  glass  I  scraped  it  clean, 
'Twas  the  first  of  its  kind  1  had  ever  seen. 
So  I  fixed  the  jaw  with  a  piece  of  twine. 
Hung  the  skull  on  a  climbing  vine, 
And  said,  with  an  accent  winning : 

"  I  say,  old  skull,  you  've  a  happy  face, 
I  thought  that  the  grave  was  a  dismal  place, 
I  '11  wager  a  hat  that  when  on  earth 
You  had  n't  that  permanent  look  of  mirth, 
And  frowned  as  you  went  about  sinning. 

"Confess  if  you  're  happier  now  than  then. 
And  I  '11  put  you  back  in  the  earth  again, 
Refuse  and  your  future  shall  surely  be 
In  the  dusty  den  of  an  old  M.  D." 
The  old  skull  kept  on  grinning. 

— James  Clarence  Harvey. 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR  107 


The  Country  Doctor 

*     I  J  'HE  country  doctor !     Let  the  bard 
irvv  Whose  lyre  is  tuned  to  Idle  praise — 
^     His  locks  unshorn,  his  face  unmarred 
^    By  sweat  and  grime,  his  hands  unscarred 

By  daily  toil— in  dulcet  lays. 

In  empty  word  and  hollow  phrase 

Recount  the  annals  of  the  great : 

Let  him  record  and  celebrate 

Their  noble  deeds ;  their  pomp  and  state. 

Their  wisdom — all,  perpetuate. 

A  humbler  theme  to  you  I  bring. 

The  smell  of  flowers,  the  breath  of  spring. 

The  flutter  of  the  blue  bird's  wing. 

And  with  it  all  I  bring  to  you 

The  country  doctor,  good  and  true. 

The  country  doctor !     Him  whose  life 
From  sun  to  sun  is  daily  rife 
With  bootless  toil  and  ceaseless  strife ; 
Whose  sturdy  frame  is  made  to  feel 
The  summer's  flame,  the  winter's  steel, 
I  come  to  sing  in  praise  of  him. 
His  soul  is  fat,  his  purse  is  slim. 
His  eyesight  keen,  his  foresight  dim. 
For  caring  naught  for  power  or  pelf, 
While  there  *s  a  crust  upon  the  shelf. 
He  works  for  fun  and  boards  himself  I 

Ahl  ye,  who  traverse  city  streets 

On  swaying  springs  and  cushioned  seats, 

The  difficulties  that  he  meets, 

The  bumps  and  jolts,  ye  little  know. 

Through  seas  of  mud,  o'er  wastes  of  snow, 

Where  icy  tempests  howl  and  blow. 


108  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

In  pouring  rain,  where  torrents  flow 
And  sheen  and  shadow  come  and  go, 
Astride  the  sorriest  of  nags 
And  armed  with  spur  and  saddlebags, 
He  onward  works  his  weary  way; 
And  be  it  night  or  be  it  day, 
He  never  falters  nor  looks  back 
Adown  the  steep  and  rugged  track. 
But  sets  his  teeth  and  onward  plods. 
Himself  a  clod  among  the  clods  1 

I  've  said,  "A  clod  among  the  clods." 
'Twere  better,  "  God  among  the  gods  I  " 
For  sacrificing  hours  of  ease 
And  striving  hard  to  do  and  please. 
And  winning  but  the  dregs  and  lees 
Of  life's  sweet  wine,  he  fights  disease 
With  clenched  hand  and  bated  breath. 
And  knows  no  conqueror  but  death. 
'  It  shames  me  not  to  tell  the  truth, 

An  unkempt,  muddy  god,  forsooth  1 
Besmeared — bespattered — leggings,  sult- 
From  crown  of  hat  to  sole  of  boot. 
And  ofttimes  tumbled  in  the  wave 
That  seems  to  yawn  a  watery  grave, 
He  bobs  serenely  on  the  flood 
And  swims  above  the  sea  of  mud. 
For  lo  !  his  pockets  are  so  light 
He  can  not  disappear  from  sight  1 

No  scientific  friend  has  he, 

Who  ends  his  name  "A.  M.,  M.  D." 

Or  tacks  thereto  a  "  Ph.  G.'', 

To  help  him  in  perplexity, 

And  earn  them  both  a  handsome  fee  ; 

But  when  he  finds  a  knotty  case, 

A  problem  that  he  dare  not  face, 

He  sends  his  patient  off  to  town 

To  some  physician  of  renown. 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR  109 

(God  save  the  mark !     All,  all  are  great 
Who  dwell  within  the  city's  gate !) 
And  THIS  great  man  dilates  his  eyes 
And  rubs  his  hands,  looks  wondrous  wise. 
And  nimbly  gobbles  up  the  prize  ! 
The  City  doctor  counts  his  gold. 
Makes  fresh  deposits  in  the  banks, 
And  sends  the  Country  doctor,  old, 
A  neatly  worded  note  of  thanks  ! 

To  church  the  City  doctor  goes. 

(Ye  need  not  smile  and  wink  at  me 

And  strive  his  spotless  name  to  smirch : 

I  'm  told  on  good  authority 

The  City  doctor  goes  to  church.) 

To  take  an  hour's  profound  repose. 

To  hear  the  gilded  organ  ring. 

To  say  his  prayers  and  nod  and  doze 

And  see  the  sweet  soprano  sing. 

The  organ  peals,  the  tenor  squeals, 

Great  Scott !  how  good  that  doctor  feels. 

The  selfsame  hour,  the  selfsame  date. 

The  Country  doctor,  sport  of  fate. 

Moves  up  some  gully's  rocky  course 

Astride  his  rhubarb-colored  horse. 

The  only  anthem  that  he  hears. 

The  only  tune  that  greet  his  ears 

Is  murmured  by  the  evening  breeze. 

Which  moans  "  Old  Hundred  "  thro'  the  trees  ! 

The  City  doctor  spends  his  days 

In  crowded  marts  and  traveled  ways  ; 

At  night  he  sees  the  latest  plays. 

And  rests  his  half-enchanted  gaze 

On  some  new  "  star "  that  lights  the  stage 

A  star  of  most  uncertain  age. 

Of  whom  the  critics  rant  and  rage. 

The  Country  doctor,  poor,  despised. 

His  purse  half-starved  and  undersized, 


110  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Contents  himself  to  stay  at  home ; 
The  only  stars  he  ever  icnows 
Are  those  that  rest  in  heaven's  dome 
And  light  the  waste  of  winter  snows. 

The  Country  doctor !     Blessed  be  he 

Who  sets  the  weary  suff'rer  free 

From  burning  fever,  racking  pain 

And  countless  ills,  and  does  it,  too. 

Without  a  thought  or  hope  of  gain  ; 

Without  a  single  cent  in  view ! 

I  come  to  sing  in  praise  of  him. 

Whose  soul  is  fat,  whose  purse  is  slim  , 

Whose  eyesight 's  keen,  whose  foresight 's  dim. 

For  caring  naught  for  fame  or  pelf, 

While  there  's  a  crust  upon  the  shelf. 

He  works  for  fun  and  boards  himself! 

— S.  Q.  Lapius. 


The  Latest    Reconstructive    Nerve-Tonic   and 
Restorative 

^    F  I  should  die  tonight — 

•7  \  And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  say, 


H 


Weeping  and  heart  sick,  o'er  my  lifeless  clay, 
'  If  I  should  die  tonight — 
And  you  should  come  in  deep  grief  and  woe. 
And  say,  "  Here's  that  $10  1  owe," 
I  might  rise  up  in  my  great  white  cravat, 
And  say,  "What's  that?" 
If  I  should  die  tonight — 
And  you  should  come  to  my  corpse  and  kneel, 
Clasping  my  bier  to  show  the  grief  you  feel, 
I  say,  if  I  should  die  tonight. 
And  you  should  come  to  me,  and  here  and  then 
Just  even  hint  about  paying  me  that  ten, 
I  might  arise  a  while — but  I  'd  drop  dead  again. 

Ben  King. 


THE  HONORS  THAT  AWAIT  THE  DISCOVERER      111 


The  Honors  That  Await  the  Discoverer  in 
Surgery 

F  the  doctors  in  convention,  Surgeon  Blank  a  moment 

claimed, 
[While  he  showed  an  apparatus  and  its  various  points 
explained, 

Which  he  said  he  had  invented  for  the  cure  of  a  disease 
That  all  other  forms  of  treatment  but  the  knife  had  failed  to 

ease. 
When  he  closed,  some  seven  members  in  their  wisdom  rose 

and  said 
They  were  each  of  them  delighted  with  the  paper  Blank  had 

read; 
While  it  showed  the  greatest  merit,  they  were  still  compelled 

to  say. 
That  the  malady  in  question  could  not  be  relieved  that  way. 
One  averred,  in  his  opinion,  'twould  be  trifling  with  a  life 
To  attempt  to  treat  such  cases  without  recourse  to  the  knife, 
And  one  warned   his  fellow-members  that  the  plan  was  yet 

untried. 
And  one  prophesied  a  failure,   others,  novelties  decried. 
So,  in  short,  each  poured  cold  water  in  the  biggest  kind  of 

streams 
On  the  head  of  the  inventor  and  his  too  ambitious  schemes  ; 
Winding  up  with  the  assertion,  that,  as  now  the  matter  stands, 
If  successful  with  the  author,  it  would  fail  in  other  hands. 

In  a  year  or  so  thereafter  the  convention  met  once  more. 
And  again  in  proper  season  Surgeon  Blank  was  on  the  floor ; 
This  time  with  numerous,  patients  of  his  own  and  others,  too. 
Proving  thus  to  a  conviction  every  point  he  claimed  was  true. 
And  once  more  the  seven  members  were  on  hand  in  wise  array, 
And  in  turn.  In  the  proceedings,  each  arose  and  had  his  say. 


112  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

All  were  proud  of  being  fellows  of  a  body  Blank  adorned, 
And  they  each  one  begged  to  mention,  that,  while  other  doctors 

scorned — 
At   the    time   of   the   invention   when    the   subject   first   was 

broached — 
They   expressed   themselves   delighted   and  all  doubters   had 

reproached. 
It  was  a  glorious  triumph  our  esteemed  colleague  had  won, 
But  It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  it  had  before  been  done. 
It  was  true  the  operation  had  most  uniformly  failed. 
But  then  its  vital  principles  no  authority  assailed. 
And  then  they  quoted  Heurteloup  and  Joseph  Emile,  Cornay, 
And  Civiale,  and  Jacobsen,  Brodie,  Leroy,  Mercier; 
Proving  thus  that  Blank's  invention  was  invented  long  ago, 
And  that  certain  small  improvements  were  the  most  that  he 

could  show ; 
And  even  in  regard  to  these,  each  did  contrive  in  terms 
To  convey  the  intimation  that  Blank  had  from  him  the  germs. 

Such  is  oft  the  meed  of  genius,  but  it 's  not  the  only  one  ; 
There's  the  inward  satisfaction  of  a  duty  ably  done ; 
And  the  fame  that  bides  forever  for  such  deeds  is  still  in  store 
When  detraction's  voice  is  silent,  when  this  fleeting  life  is  o'er. 

Dr.  George  Chismore. 


Sent  to  a  Patient,  with  the  Present  of  a 
Couple  of  Ducks 

T  'VE  dispatch 'd,  my  dear  madam,  this  scrap  of  a 

^        letter, 

To  say  that  Miss is  very  much  better. 

A  Regular  Doctor  no  longer  she  lacks, 
And  therefore  I  've  sent  her  a  couple  of  Quacks. 
— Dr.  Edward  Jenner. 


LOVE-MAKING  113 


W: 


Love-Making 

THE    WAY    OF   THE    M.    D. 

'ELL,  Angelina,  this  is  most  absurd. 

The  way  I  feel,  it  is  upon  my  word ; 

Of  course  his  own  disease  you  would  suppose 

An  ^sculapius  could  diagnose. 
But  now  the  fact  is  this,  I  can  't  locate 
This  pain  of  mine,  whether  'tis  in  my  pate, 
Or  In  my  heart,  my  liver  or  my  lung. 
Sometimes  it  seems  in  all,  and  too,  my  tongue 
Is  subject  to  a  paralytic  stroke  : — 
You  laugh,  my  dear,  but  really  'tis  no  joke. 
For  when  I  'd  broach  a  subject  unto  you, — 
One  old  as  time,  but  somehow  ever  new. 
The  Icicle  that  shivers  in  December, 
Is  not  more  chill  than  this  unruly  member. 
At  fever  point  sometimes  my  pulses  beat, 
Again  'tis  low  as  zero,  Fahrenheit, 
And  so  erratic  is  my  respiration 
I  fear  'twill  prove  its  own  annihilation. 
In  strength  and  appetite  I  could  compete 
Once,  with  the  great  Crotonian  athlete, 
But  now  my  muscles,  all,  are  lax,  undone. 
And  all  my  gastric  provinder  is  gone  ; 
I  've  dosed  myself  with  potion  after  potion, 
I  've  plunged  myself  in  lotion  after  lotion, 
But  there  's  no  pill,  no  powder,  lotion,  plaster, 
Can  mitigate  this  coming  dire  disaster. 
Yet  sometimes  I  do  look  for  convalesence, 
And  hope  beams  nigh,  'till  once  more  in  your  presence, 
Then  ruin  rampant  threatens  dissolution, 
And  heart  and  brain  is  a  crazy  convolution, — 
What  shall  I  do  my  love,  what  shall  I  do? 
You  see  I  am  splenetic — awful  blue, 

8-8 


114  THE  DOCTORS  WINDOW. 

And  there's  a  remedy,  or  I'm  undone ; 

SiMILIA  SIMILIBUS,  SO  On  ) 

What  think  you  of  it?  You're  the  cause,  you  know, 
So  let  your  healing  virtues  to  me  flow ; 
Unless  you  do,  I  care  not  now  to  say 
What  may  become  of  me  some  gloomy  day; 
Perhaps  you'll  find  at  an  unlucky  hour. 
My  poor  disjecta  membra  at  your  door, 

— Rebecca  Morrow  Reaves. 


The  Good  Physician. 

"  Tended  the  sick,  busiest  from  couch  to  couch," — Milton. 

TO  RMS  are  remembered  when  the  voyage  is 
o'er, 

But  not  the  breeze  that  wafted  us  ashore. 

If  this  once  busy  being  were  of  those 
Whom  Fame  forgets,  it  mars  not  his  repose ; 
He  never  sought,  in  life's  industrious  ways, 
A  large  return,  or  loud  or  lasting  praise  ; 
But  to  the  sacred  task  which  Heaven  assigned, 
In  pain's  hushed  chamber,  gave  his  strength  and  mind. 
Believing  so  he  served  his  Maker  best, 
Trusting  the  Great  Physician  for  the  rest. 

We  write  his  name  on  this  pretenceless  stone. 
To  point  his  pillow  to  his  friends  alone ; 
Nor  would  we  vex  his  spirit  to  record 
How  much  he  did,  how  little  his  reward  : 
Yet  all  he  asked  he  had  ;  and  had  he  more. 
He  would  have  given  the  whole  to  bless  the  poor. 
— Thomas  William  Parsons. 


IN  A  MUSEUM  115 


\ 


In  a  Museum 

V  'HIS  is  a  skeleton 
'^  Of  some  unhappy  one. 


Who,  ere  his  race  was  run. 
Drank  joy  in  plenty. 
Now  for  each  gaper's  view 
Stand  his  bones,  good  as  new. 
Ticketed  "  Number  two 
Hundred  and  twenty." 

Reason  reigned  in  this  skull ; 
Now  all  its  power  is  null. 
Flashed  once  these  sockets  dull 

With  passionate  tremor. 
He  was  a  man  like  us, 
This  bony  incubus, 
This  was  his  humerus  ; 

This  was  his  femur. 

See  !  'neath  these  ribs  there  dwelt 
A  heart  that  love  once  felt. 
These  bony  knees  have  knelt, 

Scorning  abrasions ; 
These  maxillary  bones 
Oft  uttered  dulcet  tones, 
Or  asked  for  little  loans 

Upon  occasions. 

Maybe  in  times  remote 

This  hand  our  heart-strings  smote 

With  tender  things  it  wrote. 

Idyl  or  sonnet. 
His  head  when  tenanted 
Wore  a  silk  hat  well  bred — 


116  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

P'raps,  though,  It  was  her  head 
And  wore  a  bonnet. 

Maybe  the  vanished  guest 
Was  poor,  despised,  distressed ; 
Or  perchance  he  possessed 

Mansions  and  villas. 
Speak,  oh,  attendant  wight, 
Is  this  description  right  ? 
"  Can't  say  it  is,  sir,  quite. 

That  's  a  gorilla's." 

Stuart  Cameron. 


My  Uniformed  Nurse 

SWEETLY  winsome  face. 
Ripe  lips  and  merry  eyes 
Where  tender  pity  lies  ; 
.  •  Brown  hair  beneath  a  cap  of  lace 
To  keep  the  wayward  locks  in  place. 

A  fichu  neat  and  plain 

Crossed  on  her  bosom  white  ; 

Her  heart  beneath  is  light. 
But  throbs  in  sympathy  with  pain 
And  other 's  sorrows  feels  again. 

Her  very  presence  heals, 

Her  quiet  footfalls  soothe. 

Her  hand  is  soft  and  smooth, 
And  as  my  fevered  pulse  she  feels 
A  glad  thrill  through  my  being  steals. 

And  when,  grown  bold,  I  say, 
"I  love  you,  gentle  nurse !" 
She  says,  "I  'm  sure  you  're  worse! 

You  must  not  talk,  you  're  worse  today." 

And  so  she  flings  my  heart  away. 

Myles  Tyler  Frisbie. 


TO  A  YOUNG  PHYSICIAN  117 


To  a  Young  Physician 


7 


E  paths  of  pain  are  thine.    Go  forth 
With  healing  and  with  hope ; 
The  suffering  of  a  sin-sick  earth 
Shall  give  thee  ample  scope. 


Smite  down  the  dragons  fell  and  strong, 

Whose  breath  is  fever  fire ; 
No  knight  of  table  or  of  song 

Encountered  foes  more  dire. 

The  holiest  task  by  heaven  decreed. 

An  errand  all  divine, 
The  burden  of  our  mortal  need 

To  render  less  is  thine. 

No  crusade  thine  for  cross  or  grave. 

But  for  the  living  man. 
Go  forth  to  succor  and  to  save 

All  that  thy  skilled  hands  can. 

Before  the  unveiled  mysteries 

Of  life  and  death,  go  stand 
With  guarded  lips  and  reverent  eyes 

And  pure  of  heart  and  hand. 

So  shalt  thou  be  with  power  endued 

For  Him  who  went  about 
The  Syrian  hill-paths,  doing  good 

And  casting  devils  out. 

That  holy  Helper  liveth  yet, 

Thy  friend  and  guide  to  be  ; 
The  Healer  by  Gennesaret 

Shall  walk  the  rounds  with  thee ! 

— John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 


118  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Doctor  Dan's  Secret 

HEARTY  old  man  is  Doctor  Dan 

As  any  in  Romford  Town, 
With  his  cheery  grin,  and  his  threefold  chin, 
And  his  jolly  old  shining  crown. 
And  friends  who  have  proved  what  his  quarters  are 

Right  willingly  stay  to  dine  ; 
They  have  faith  in  his  cook  and  his  fat  cigar 

And  his  bottle  of  vintage  wine. 
"  It 's  a  queer  little  crib,"  says  Doctor  Dan, 
"  But  cosy  enough  for  a  single  man." 

As  they  lounge  at  ease,  and  toast  their  knees. 

The  host,  with  a  laugh,  will  say, 
"  My  kingdom's  small,  but  over  it  all 

I  reign  with  a  despot's  sway. 
No  serious  dame  may  freeze  my  joke 

With  a  glance  of  her  awful  eye. 
Nor  cough  rebuke  from  a  cloud  of  smoke 

Nor  put  the  decanter  by. 
I  feel  in  my  heart,"  says  Doctor  Dan. 
"  For  that  poor  white  slave,  the  married  man." 

But  as  soon  as  the  last  good-bye  is  said, 

And  he  fears  not  ring  or  knock, 
He  walks  to  his  desk,  with  a  solemn  tread, 

And  quietly  turns  the  lock. 
The  tear-mists  rise  in  his  brave  blue  eyes, 

As  he  stands  and  gazes  there  ; 
It  is  gold — bright  gold — in  his  hand  that  lies — 

But  the  gold  of  a  lost  love's  hair. 
"It  was  only  a  dream,"  says  Doctor  Dan, 
"  But  the  waking  has  left  me  a  lonely  man." 

— Frederick  Langbridge. 


THE  BLUSH  119 


The  Blush 

A    BRIEF,    RHYMING    THESIS   ATTRIBUTED    TO    CLARA    SOPHIA 
SERE  KG.    M.    D. 

"*HE  ruddy  incalescency 
Of  radiant  peach-bloom. 
Or  glow  on  May-tinne  apple-boughs. 
Effulgent,  like  the  rose, 

Or  dainty  folds  of  fervency 

Rhodora  may  unfurl, 

To  match  Aurora's  tenderness, 

I  will  not  dare  presume 

To  reach  with  terms  expositive. 

But  earnestly  propose, 

In  language  astiological 

To  scan  the  blushing  girl. 

A  transient  erubescency, 

A  calorific  glow, 

O'erspreads  the  physiognomy, 

Suffusing  Flora's  cheek. 

And  from  the  apt  perceptiveness 

Of  cause,  as  of  a  blow 

Upon  the  quick  sensorium 

And  capillaries  weak. 

Eventuates  in  paresis 

Of  vaso-motor  nerves. 

Whereby  their  loss  of  springiness 

Encourages  a  flush 

Of  soft,  effusive  radiance. 

Which  evidently  serves 

To  prompt  a  weak  prascordla 

To  consummate  a  blush. 

— Henry  Chandler. 


120  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Dispensary 


EXTRACTS 

PEAK,  goddess  !  since  '.is  thou  that  best  canst 

tell. 
I  How  ancient  leagues  to  modern  discord  fell; 
And  why  physicians  were  so  cautious  grown 
Of  others'  lives,  and  lavish  of  their  own! 
How  by  a  journey  to  the  Elysian  plain 
Peace  triumphed,  and  old  Time  returned  again. 

Not  far  from  that  most  celebrated  place. 
Where  angry  Justice  shows  her  awful  face ; 
Where  little  villians  must  submit  to  fate. 
That  great  ones  may  enjoy  the  world  in  state  ; 
There  stands  a  dome,  majestic  to  the  sight, 
And  sumptuous  arches  bear  its  oval  height ; 
A  golden  globe  placed  high  with  artful  skill. 
Seems  to  the  distant  sight,  a  gilded  pill : 
This  pile  was,  by  the  pious  patron's  aim, 
Raised  for  a  use  as  noble  as  its  frame  ; 
Nor  did  the  learn'd  Society  decline 
The  propagation  of  that  great  design ; 
In  all  her  mazes  Nature's  face  they  viewed, 
And  as  she  disappeared,  their  search  pursued 
Wrapped  in  the  shade  of  night  the  goddess  lies 
Yet  to  the  learn'd  unveils  her  dark  disguise, 
But  shuns  the  gross  access  of  vulgar  eyes. 

Now  she  unfolds  the  faint  and  dawning  strife 
Of  infant  atoms  kindling  into  life  ; 
How  ductile  matter  new  meanders  takes. 
And  slender  trains  of  twisting  fibres  makes  : 
And  how  the  viscous  seeks  a  closer  tone, 
By  just  degrees  to  harden  Into  bone ; 


THE  DISPENSARY  121 

While  the  more  loose  flow  from  the  vital  urn, 

And  in  full  tides  of  purple  streams  return ; 

How  lambent  flames  from  life's  bright  lamps  arise, 

And  dart  emanations  through  the  eyes ; 

How  from  each  sluice  a  gentle  torrent  pours. 

To  slake  a  feverish  heat  with  ambient  showers  ; 

Whence,  their  mechanic  powers,  the  spirits  claim ; 

How  great  their  force,  how  delicate  their  frame ; 

How  the  same  nerves  are  fashioned  to  sustain 

The  greatest  pleasure  and  the  greatest  pain. 

Why  bilious  juice  a  golden  light  puts  on. 

And  floods  of  chyle  in  silver  currents  run  ; 

How  the  dim  speck  of  entity  began 

To  extend  its  recent  form,  and  stretch  to  man: 

To  how  minute  an  origin  we  owe 

Young  Ammon,  Cassar,  and  the  great  Nassau ; 

Why  paler  looks  impetuous  rage  proclaim. 

And  why  chill  virgins  redden  into  flame ; 

Why  envy  oft  transforms  with  wan  disguise. 

And  why  gay  mirth  sits  smiling  in  the  eyes ; 

All  ice  why  Lucrece,  or  Sempronia,  fire ; 

Why  Southwell  rages  to  survive  desire. 

Whence  Milo's  vigor  at  th'  Olympic's  shown. 

Whence  tropes  to  Finch,  or  impudence  to  Sloane  ; 

How  matter,  by  the  varied  shape  of  pores. 

Or  idiots  frames,  or  solemn  senators. 

Hence  'tis  we  wait  the  wondrous  cause  to  find. 
How  body  acts  upon  impassive  mind  : 
How  fumes  of  wine  the  thinking  part  can  fire. 
Past  hopes  revive,  and  present  joys  inspire : 
Why  our  complexions  oft  our  soul  declare, 
And  how  the  passions  in  the  features  are  : 
How  touch  and  harmony  arise  between 
Corporeal  figure  and  a  form  unseen : 
How  quick  their  faculties  the  limbs  fulfil. 
And  act  at  every  summons  of  the  will. 
With  mighty  truths,  mysterious  to  descry, 
Which  in  the  womb  of  distant  causes  lie. 

But  now  no  grand  inquiries  are  descried. 
Mean  faction  reigns,  where  knowledge  should  preside, 


122  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Fueds  are  increased,  and  learning  laid  aside. 

Thus  synods  oft  concern  for  faith  conceal, 

And  for  important  nothings  show  a  zeal : 

The  drooping  Sciences  neglected  pine, 

And  Pasn's  beams  with  fading  luster  shine. 

No  readers  here  with  hectic  looks  are  found, 

Nor  eyes  in  rheum,  through  midnight-watching  drowned: 

The  lonely  edifice  in  sweats  complains 

That  nothing  there  but  sullen  silence  reigns. 

This  place,  so  fit  for  undisturbed  repose, 
The  God  of  Sloth  for  his  asylum  chose ; 
Upon  a  couch  of  down  in  these  abodes 
Supine  with  folded  arms  he  thoughtless  nods ; 
Indulging  dreams  his  godhead  lull  to  ease. 
With  murmurs  of  soft  rills,  and  whispering  trees: 
The  poppy  and  each  numbing  plant  dispense 
Their  drowsy  virtue,  and  dull  indolence  ; 
No  passions  interrupt  his  easy  reign. 
No  problems  puzzle  his  lethargic  brain, 
But  dark  oblivion  guards  his  peaceful  bed. 
And  lazy  fogs  hang  lingering  o  'er  his  head. 

As  at  full  length  the  pampered  monarch  lay 
Battening  in  ease,  and  slumbering  life  away, 
A  spiteful  noise  his  downy  chains  unties. 
Hastes  forward,  and  increases  as  it  flies. 

First  some  to  cleave  the  stubborn  flint  engage. 
Till  urged  by  blows,  it  sparkles  into  rage : 
Some  temper  lute,  some  spacious  vessels  move: 
These  furnaces  erect,  and  those  approve. 
Here  phials  in  nice  discipline  are  set. 
There  gallipots  are  ranged  in  alphabet. 
In  this  place,  magazines  of  pills  you  spy; 
In  that,  like  forage,  herbs  in  bundles  lie ; 
While  lifted  pestles,  brandished  in  the  air, 
Descend  in  peals,  and  civil  wars  declare. 
Loud  strokes,  with  pounding  spice,  the  fabric  rend. 
And  aromatic  clouds  in  spires  ascend. 


THE  DISPENSARY  123 

"  Since  by  no  arts  I  therefore  can  defeat 

The  happy  enterprises  of  the  great, 

I  '11  calmly  stoop  to  more  inferior  things. 

And  try  if  my  loved  snakes  have  teeth  or  stings." 

She  said ;  and  straight  shrill  Colon's  person  took. 
In  morals  loose,  but  most  precise  in  look. 
Blackfriars  annals  lately  pleased  to  call 
Him,  Warden  of  Apothecaries-hall. 
And,  when  so  dignified,  did  not  forbeat 
That  operation  which  the  learn'd  declare 
Gives  colics  ease,  and  makes  the  ladies  fair. 
In  trifling  show  his  tinsel  talent  lies. 
And  form  the  want  of  intellects  supplies. 
In  aspect  grand  and  goodly  he  appears. 
Revered  as  patriarchs  in  primeval  years. 
Hourly  his  learn'd  impertinence  affords 
A  barren  superfluity  of  words  ; 
The  patient's  ears  remorseless  he  assails. 
Murders  with  jargon  where  his  medicine  fails. 

The  Fury  thus  assuming  Colon's  grace, 
So  slung  her  arms,  so  shuffled  in  her  pace. 
Onward  she  hastens  to  the  famed  abodes. 
Where  Horoscope  invokes  the  infernal  gods; 
And,  reached  the  mansion  where  the  vulgar  run, 
For  ruin  throng,  and  pay  to  be  undone. 

This  visionary  various  projects  tries, 
And  knows,  that  to  be  rich  is  to  be  wise. 
By  useful  observations  he  can  tell 
The  sacred  charms  that  in  true  sterling  dwell. 
How  gold  makes  a  patrician  of  a  slave, 
A  dwarf  an  Atlas,  a  Thersites  brave. 
It  cancels  all  defects,  and  in  their  place 
Finds  sense  in  Brownlow,  charms  in  Lady  Grace  : 
It  guides  the  fancy,  and  directs  the  mind  ; 
No  bankrupt  ever  found  a  fair  one  kind. 

So  truly  Horoscope  its  virtues  knows, 
To  this  loved  idol  'tis,  alone,  he  bows ; 
And  fancies  such  bright  heraldry  can  prove 
The  vile  plebeian  but  the  third  from  Jove. 


124  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Long  has  he  been  of  that  amphibious  fry, 
Bold  to  prescribe,  and  busy  to  apply. 
His  shop  the  gazing  vulgar's  eyes  employs 
With  foreign  trinkets,  and  domestic  toys : 
Here  mummies  lay,  most  reverendly  stale, 
And  there,  the  tortoise  hung  her  coat  of  mail ; 
Not  far  from  some  huge  shark's  devouring  head 
The  flying-fish  their  finny  pinions  spread. 
Aloft  in  rows  large  poppy  heads  were  strung, 
And  near,  a  scaly  alligator  hung : 
In  this  place,  drugs  in  musty  heaps  decayed ; 
In  that,  dried  bladders  and  drawn  teeth  were  laid. 

An  inner  room  receives  the  numerous  shoals 
Of  such  as  pay  to  be  reputed  fools. 
Globes  stand  by  globes,  volumes  on  volumes  lie, 
And  planetary  schemes  amuse  the  eye. 

The  sage,  in  velvet  chair,  here  lolls  at  ease. 
To  promise  future  health  for  present  fees. 
Then,  as  from  tripod,  solemn  shams  reveals, 
And  what  the  stars  know  nothing  of  foretells. 

— Samuel  Garth. 

A  Doctor's  Motto 

DOCTOR,  who,  for  want  of  skill. 
Did  sometimes  cure — and  sometimes  kill ; 
Contrived  at  length,  by  many  a  puff, 
■*■  And  many  a  bottle  filled  with  stuff, 

To  raise  his  fortune,  and  his  pride  ; 

And  in  a  coach,  forsooth !  must  ride. 

His  family  coat  long  since  worn  out. 

What  arms  to  take,  was  all  the  doubt. 

A  friend,  consulted  on  the  case, 

Thus  answered  with  a  sly  grimace  : 

"Take  some  device  in  your  own  way, 

Neither  too  solemn  nor  too  gay ; 

Three  Ducks,  suppose ;  white,  gray,  or  black ; 

And  let  your  motto  be,  Quack!  quack !  " 

— Richard  Graves. 


MILK  125 


Milk 

CANTO  I. 

^  ■  n  the  early  days  of  history 

'7  \     Which  are  so  enshrined  in  mystery. 


^ 


And  the  stories  told  about   them  are  such   hard   ones   to 
believe ; 

In  the  days  of  ancient  Adam 
When  the  only  living  madam 
Was  the  young  girl  of  that  period,  whose  maiden  name  was  Eve  ; 

It  is  said  this  man  and  woman. 
I  suppose  because  'twas  human 
Then   as  now.  and  ever  will  be.    while  the    worlds  the  same 
remain, 

Without  service,  without  clergy, 
Without  silver  or  liturgy. 
Walked  together,  talked  together,  dined  together,  and  raised 
Cain. 

If  you'll  pardon  the  digression, 

And  permit  a  plain  expression 
From  a  man  who  's  looking  backward  after  some  six  thousand 
years, 

I  will  say,  this  act  of  sinning 

Was,  to  my  mind,  the  beginning 
Of  the  trouble  we  poor  mortals  suffer  in  this  "vale  of  tears." 

But  1  do  not  mind  confessing 

I  consider  it  a  blessing. 
Notwithstanding  it  has  brought  us  so  much  sorrow,  so  much 
pain. 

For  this  singular  relation 

Made  for  us  an  occupation. 
And  the  Doctor  chases  sickness  as  the  sunshine  does  the  rain. 


126  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

So  I  look  on  the  transaction 

With  complacent  satisfaction 
From  the  standpoint  of  a  Doctor,  or  perhaps,  an  accoucheur, 

And  I  criticise  them,  never, 

And  I  bless  them  both,  forever ; 
In  which  radical  expression  I  expect  you  to  concur. 

To  return  to  Cain,  the  baby: 

Eve  was  ill,  and  Adam,  maybe 
Badly  frightened  by  the  crying  and  contortions  of  the  boy ; 

Took  him  in  his  arms,  caressed  him, 

Patted,  cooed,  and  fondly  pressed  him 
To  his  bosom,  full  of  kindness,  empty  of  the  "  infant 's  joy." 

Vain  were  all  attempts  to  quiet 

This  new  youth  in  search  of  diet. 
And  his  crying,  and  his  sobbing,  roused  the  mother  from  her 
rest: 

Lovingly  she  reached  and  took  him, 

Instantly  his  cries  forsook  him, 
And  he  nestled  in  her  bosom,  with  his  mouth  upon  her  breast. 

Adam,  wondering  at  the  stillness, — 
Fearful  of  some  sudden  illness — 
Mindful  of  his  own  transgression,  and  the   curse  his  sin  had 
brought. 

Eagerly  the  babe  inspected. 
Listened,  pondered,  and  reflected, 
Opened  wide  his  eyes   with   wonder,    at  the  sight   his   vision 
caught. 

Joy  of  joys !  two  flowing  fountains 

Issued  from  two  snowy  mountains, 
"Succor!    succor!  and  nepenthe,"   Adam  shouted.    "Let  me 
sing 

Hallelujah  !  and  Eureka ! 

I  have  found  it,  no  more  seek  a- 
Midst  the  garden  for  a  diet  fit  for  infant,  fit  for  king." 


MILK  127 

CANTO    n. 

Of  one  thing  I  am  certain,  and  that  is,  if  Cain 

Had  been  kept  on  this  pabulum,  simple  and  plain. 

Had  taken  it  fresh  and  without  sterilizing, 

With  perfect  digestion,  no  acid  uprising, 

His  brain  had  been  clear  and  his  mind  strong  and  stable. 

With  never  a  thought  in  't  of  killing  poor  Abel. 

But  as  he  grew  older  and  cut  his  front  teeth, 

And  his  gums  became  sore  from  the  pressure  beneath, 

And  he  fretted  a  little,  and  what  was  far  worse. 

Awakened  at  midnight  and  wanted  to  nurse, 

His  mother  (of  course  her  intentions  were  good) 

Raised  the  devil  in  Cain,  for  she  altered  his  food. 

I  believe  from  that  moment  his  troubles  began, 

And  he  grew  up  a  hard  and  disatisfied  man ; 

His  appetite  changed,  and  'tis  said  he  would  choke 

At  the  cocoanut's  milk  or  the  cream  of  a  joke, 

And  the  sweet  milk  of  kindness  in  him  became  sour. 

And  he  never  was  happy  again  from  that  hour. 

Eructations  of  passion,  as  well  as  of  gas. 

Were  as  common  as  "  chumps  "  in  a  medical  class, 

And — well  you  know  how  the  curse  upon  Cain 

Followed  that  on  poor  Eve,  and  must  ever  remain. 

MORAL. 

This  original  lactation. 

Was  the  sign  for  all  creation 
That  a  food  was  there  provided  for  the    infant,  well  or  ill: 

Milk,  the  healthiest  of  diet ; 

Milk,  the  most  nutritious  ;  try  it, 
Use  it,  prove  it,  recommend  it;    drink  it — and  I'm  sure  you 
will. 

•— Dr^  Joseph  B.  Griswold. 


128  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Quack  Doctor's  Proclamation 

N  astonishing  Doctor  has  just  come  to  town, 
Who  will  do  all  the  faculty  perfectly  brown : 
He  knows  all  diseases,  their  causes  and  ends; 
And  he  "begs  to  appeal  to  his  medical  friends." 
Tol  de  rol 

Diddle  doll : 
Tol  de  rol,  de  dol. 

Diddle  doll 
Tol  de  rol  dol. 

He  's  a  magnetic  Doctor,  and  knows  how  to  keep 
The  whole  of  a  Government  snoring  asleep 
To  popular  clamors  ;  till  popular  pins 
Are  stuck  in  their  midriffs — and  then  he  begins. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

He  's  a  CLAIRVOYANT  subject,  and  readily  reads 
His  countrymen's  wishes,  conditions,  and  needs, 
With  many  more  fine  things  I  can't  tell  in  rhyme — 
And  he  keeps  both  his  eyes  shut  the  whole  of  the  time. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

You  mustn  't  expect  him  to  talk  ;  but  you  '11  take 

Most  particular  notice  the  Doctor  's  awake. 

Though  for  aught  from  his  words  or  his  looks  that  you 

reap,  he 
Might  just  as  well  be  most  confoundedly  sleepy. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

Homeopathy,  too,  he  has  practised  for  ages 
(You  '11  find  his  prescriptions  in  Luke  Hansard's  pages) ; 
Just  giving  his  patient,  when  madden'd  by  pain. 
Of  Reform  the  ten  thousandeth  part  of  a  grain, 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 


THE  PHYSICIAN  12D 

He 's  a  medicine  for  Ireland,  in  portable  papers  ; 
The  infallable  cure  for  political  vapors ; 
A  neat  label  round  it  his  prentices  tie — 
"  Put  your  trust  in  the  Lord,  and  keep  this  powder  dry  1" 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

He's  a  corn-doctor,  also  of  wonderful  skill, — 
No  cutting  no  rooting-up,  purging,  or  pill, — 
You're  merely  to  take,  'stead  of  walking  or  riding. 
The  sweet  schoolboy  exercise— innocent  sliding. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

There 's  no  advice  gratis.     If  high  ladies  send 
His  legitimate  fee,  he's  their  soft-spoken  friend. 
At  the  great  public  counter  with  one  hand  behind  him 
And  one  in  his  waistcoat,  they  're  certain  to  find  him. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

He  has  only  to  add  he's  the  real  Doctor  Flam. 
All  others  being  purely  fictitious  and  sham  ; 
The  house  is  a  large  one,  tall,  slated,  and  white. 
With  a  lobby,  and  lights  in  the  passage  at  night. 
Tol  de  rol,  etc. 

— Charles  Dickens. 


The  Physician 

ANOTHER,  all  whose  face 
Bore  marks  of  patience,  train'd  by  years  of  care. 
His  glasses,  shifted  oft  with  easy  grace, 

Great  coat,  large  pockets,  and  abundant  hair 
Marked  him — "physician."  one  whose  calm,  wise  air 

Can  bid  the  raging  fever  sink  to  rest ; 
And  turn  to  smiles  his  patients'  weary  stare. 
While  children  wonder  at  his  bottle-chest, 
And  how  a  still  pulse  tells  him  just  what  pill  is  best. 

— George  Lansing  Raymond. 

6-9 


130  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


A  Fourteenth  Century  Doctor 

'ITH  us  ther  was  a  Doctor  of  Phisike. 
')i,  /  In  all  this  world  ne  was  ther  non  him  like 
To  spek  of  phisike,  and  of  surgerie  : 
For  he  was  grounded  in  astronomie. 
He  kept  his  patient  a  ful  gret  del 
In  houres  by  his  magike  naturel. 
Wei  could  he  fortunen  the  ascendent 
Of  his  images  for  his  patient. 

He  knew  the  cause  of  every  maladie, 
Were  it  of  cold,  or  hote,  or  moist,  or  drie, 
And  wher  engendred,  and  of  what  humour, 
He  was  a  veray  prafite  practisour. 
The  cause  yknowe,  and  of  his  harm  the  rote, 
Anon  he  gave  to  the  sike  man  his  bote. 
Ful  redy  hadde  he  his  apothecaries 
To  send  his  dragges,  and  his  lettuaries. 
For  eche  of  hem  made  other  for  to  winne  ; 
Hir  friendship  na  's  not'newe  to  beginne. 
Wei  knew  he  the  old  Esculapius, 
And  Dioscorides,  and  eke  Rufus; 
Old  Hippocras,  Hali,  and  Gallien, 
Serapion,  Rasis,  and  Avicen  ; 
Averrois,  Damascene,  and  Constantin; 
Bernard,  and  Gatisden,  and  Gilbertin. 
Of  his  diete  mesurable  was  he, 
For  he  was  of  no  superfluitee, 
But  of  gret  nourishing,  and  digestible. 
His  studie  was  but  little  on  the  Bible. 
In  sanguin  and  in  perse  he  clad  was  alle 
Linned  with  taffata,  and  with  sendalle. 
And  yet  he  was  but  esy  of  dispence  : 
He  kepte  that  he  wan  in  the  pestilence. 
For  golde  in  phisike  is  a  cordial ; 
Therfore  he  loved  gold  in  special. 

— Geoffrey  Chaucer. 


rHE  WOMAN  HEALER  131 


The  Woman  Healer 

TEADFAST  she  comes  to  cast  her  rose  of  youth 
Beneath  the  feet  of  pain. — a  rose  whose  breath, 

Eternal-sweet  with  woman's  tender  ruth, 
Softens  the  shadows  leading  down  to  death. 


New  figure  in  the  centuries,  she  stands. 
Guiding  the  cruel  mercy  of  the  knife ; 

With  thought-engraven  brows  and  skillful  hands, 
And  yearning  heart  to  save  the  house  of  life. 

Bless  her,  O  women,  for  it  was  your  call, 
It  was  the  myraid  cry  of  your  distress, 

That  urged  her  outward  from  the  cloistered  hall 
To  make  the  burden  of  your  anguish  less. 

Shine  on  her,  stars,  while  forth  she  goes  alone 
Beneath  the  night,  on  gracious  errand  sped ; 

And  lend  such  lustre  as  your  rays  have  thrown 
Round  bridal  steps  that  chime  with  lover's  tread. 

Her  pathway  scent.  O  flowers  that  fleck  the  field. 
As  from  her  hurrying  feet  the  dews  are  driven, 

With  no  less  fragrance  than  your  clusters  yield 
By  dimpled  hands  to  happy  mothers  given. 

And  brothers,  you  who  watch  her  toilsome  days. 
With  doubtful  lip  in  half  derision  curled. 

Scant  not  her  meed  of  courtesies  and  praise. 
The  bloom  and  starlight  of  the  spirit  world. 

For  with  a  sense  of  loss  too  fine  to  own. 
The  nestward  longing  of  the  carrier  dove, 

She  turneth  from  her  first,  entitled  throne. 
And  all  the  household  walks  that  women  love ; 


132  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

The  gracious  ministries  of  little  deeds 
And  service  for  the  few,  by  love  made  sweet — 

From  these  she  turneth  unto  wider  needs, 
And  pours  her  ointment  on  the  stranger's  feet. 

Perchance,  amid  the  clash  of  striving  days, 
She  may  lay  by  a  trick  or  two  of  charms, 

May  miss  of  those  caressing,  dainty  ways 
That  women  learn  from  babies  in  their  arms ; 

But  even  while  the  battle  leaves  its  trace. 
The  vanward  battle  ill  to  be  withstood. 

She  but  refines  her  best,  peculiar  grace. 
And  proves  her  self-forgetful  womanhood. 

— Katharine  Lee  Bates. 


The  Doctor  and  I 


"c^HE  Doctor  stands  in  his  doorway, 
)  ^      And  marks  how  the  rain  descends. 

And  the  thunder  that  follows  the  lightning, 
^       And  the  wind  that  the  maple  bends. 


[ 


The  Doctor 's  a  man  of  science, 
And  knows  why  the  rain  comes  down. 

And  why  the  lightning  flashes 

From  the  clouds  that  above  us  frown. 

He  knows,  I  suppose,  why  the  thunder 

From  lightning  will  not  divorce  ; 
And  why  the  tall  maples  are  bending. 

And  where  the  wind  comes  from, — of  course. 

I  'm  only  a  simple  farmer. 

My  brain  is  not  learned  like  his ; 
I  but  know  that  the  storm  a  glory, 

And  the  rain  a  blessing  is. 


THE  CITY  DEADHOUSE  133 

Perhaps,  as  he  watches  the  tempest, 

He  enjoys  far  more  than  I  ; 
He  deems  it  a  "triumph  of  science," 

But  to  me  "God  passeth  by." 

But  I  must  not  envy  the  Doctor, 

Though  more  than  this  he  knows. 
And  I  'm  but  a  prairie  farmer, 

In  tattered,  homespun  clothes. 

He  knows,  by  his  patent  rain-guage. 

Just  how  much  rain  was  given. 
And  I  by  the  smile  on  my  corn-fields, — 

But  I  hope  that  we  both  thank  Heaven. 

— William  Osborn  Stoddard. 


The  City  Dead-House 

Y  the  city  dead-house  by  the  gate. 
As  idly  sauntering,  wending  my  way  from  the  clangor, 
I  curious  pause,  for  lo,  an  outcast  form,  a  poor  dead 
prostitute  brought. 
Her  corpse  they  deposit  unclaimed,  it  lies  on  the  damp  brick 

pavement. 
The  divine  woman,  her  body,  I  see  the  body,  I  look  on  it  alone. 
That  house  once  full  of  passion  and  beauty,  all  else  I  notice  not. 
Nor  stillness  so  cold,  nor  running  water  from  the  faucet,  nor 

odors  morbific  impress  me. 
But  the  house  alone — that  wondrous  house — that  delicate  fair 

house — that  ruin ! 
That  immortal  house  more  than  all  the  rows  of  dwellings  ever 

built ! 
Or  white-domed  capitol  with  majestic  figure  surmounted,  or  all 

the  old  high-spired  cathedrals, 
That  little  house  alone  more  than  them  all — poor,  desperate 
house  1 


134  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Fair,  fearful  wreck — tenament  of  a  soul — Itself  a  soul. 
Unclaimed,  avoided  house — take  one  breath  from  my  tremulous 

lips. 
Take  one  tear  dropt  aside  as  I  go  for  thought  of  you, 
Dead  house  of  love — house  of   madness  and  sin,  crumbled, 

crushed. 
House  of  life,   erewhile   talking  and    laughing — but   ah,  poor 

house,  dead  even  then, 
Months,  years,  an  echoing,  garnished  house — but  dead,  dead, 

dead. 

Walt  Whitman. 


The  Doctor's  Message 

Y  little  patient,  gone  so  soon  before, 
To  that  mysterious,  much  desired  shore ; 
Whenyou  come  there, where  yet  1  hope  to  be, 
-What  will  you  tell  the  blessed  Lord  for  me  ? 

Will  you  remember  I  was  kind  to  you  ? 

And  tell  Him  all  the  good  I  sought  to  do  ? 

Or  will  you  tell  Him  I  am  bruised  and  sore  ? 
And  that  my  heart  Is  tender  to  the  core  ? 
Or  will  you  ask  Him  to  remove  my  pain, 
And  give  my  darlings  back  to  me  again  ? 
Nay,  tell  Him  this— that  I  was  kind  to  you. 
And  how  I  wrought  my  best  to  bring  you  through. 

And  then,  amid  the  grief  I  cannot  tell 
To  any  man,  but  which  he  knows  so  well. 
He  may,  perhaps,  bestow  a  peaceful  heart, 
Until,  like  you.  He  calls  me  to  depart. 
Remember  me  to  Him,  whate  'er  you  do. 
And  tell  Him,  dear,  that  I  was  kind  to  you. 

— Abraham  Perry  Miller. 


DOCTOR  O'FINNIGAN  i35 


Doctor  O'Finnigan 


URE  there  ne'er  was  a  doctor 
Was  an  abler  concocter 
Of  pills  and  of  potions, 
Of  yarbs  and  of  lotions 
To  cure  all  the  ills  of  poor  sufferin'  humanity. 
Than  Doctor  O'Finnigan, 
Who'd  make  the  sick  grin  again 

By  the  mirth  in  his  fayture. 
By  his  indless  good  nature. 
And  his  blarney  that  drove  away  ills  and  insanity. 

Every  colleen  who  knew  him 
With  her  ailments  wint  to  him, 

And  the  merry  old  mixer 

Never  failed  an  elixir 
To  give  that  would  cure  every  ill  from  love-tiff  to  fever. 
And  his  patients  all  pretty. 
As  they'd  blush  at  his  witty 

And  fine  jovial  speeches, 

Would  offer  him  the  witches  ! 
For  his  service  their  kisses,  which  he'd  take,  the  deceiver! 


Every  gossoon  that  sought  him, 
'Twas  no  matter  what  brought  him. 
His  own  ills  or  the  distress 
Of  his  master  or  mistress. 
Found  comfort  and  cure  in  good  old  Doctor  O'Finnigan, 
For  the  tales  that  he  told  thim. 
With  the  nostrums  he  sold  thim, 

Made  each  mother's  son  of  thim 
So  glad  that  aich  wan  of  thim 
Had  no  sooner  gone  out  than  he'd  wish  to  go  In  again. 


136  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  the  poor  and  the  sorra 
All  wint  to  him,  begorra, 

For  his  mirth  and  his  potions 
He  'd  pour  on  thim  by  oceans, 
Traltlng  the  poor  just  the  same  as  he  traited  the  wealthy, 
And  I  sa_>'  without  jokin' 
The  soul-sad  and  heart-broken 

Found  the  doctor  a  treasui'e 
Of  delight  beyond  measure, 
For  he  'd  make  thim  all  laugh,  sure,  till  they  'd  grow  strong 
and  healthy. 

He  'd  give  food  to  the  needy. 

He  'd  give  clothes  to  the  seedy : 

Not  wan  wint  impty-handed 
Who  his  graces  demanded, 
For  his  heart  was  as  warm  as  his  laughter  was  cheerful. 

And  he  'd  no  dearer  pleasure 

Than  to  sow  the  rich  treasure 

Of  the  sweet  seeds  of  laughter 
That  might  bring  harvest  after 
Of  contintmint  and  health  to  the  ailing  and  tearful. 

All  the  praists  and  the  praichers. 
All  the  lawyers  and  taichers. 

The  Catholics,  the  Shakers, 

Prizbytarians,  Quakers, 
And  thim  that  was  bothered  with  sorra  a  bit  of  religion. 
Good  and  bad  in  condition. 
High  and  low  in  position, 

Gintility,  quality. 

All  bowed  to  his  jollity, 
And  the  doctor's  sweet  humor  was  the  life  of  the  region 

At  aich  birth  he  was  prlsent, 

At  aich  christenin'  plizant, 

Aich  weddin'  he  attinded, 
And  the  guests  he  befrinded 
With  the  wine  of  his  humor,  the  brand  of  O'Flnnigan, 


DOCTOR  O'FINNIGAN  137 

And  thin  he  on  the  morra 
At  the  wake  would  kill  sorra. 

Make  the  keeners  fall  laughln' 
As  they  crooned  round  the  coffin. 
And  'twas  not  till  he  'd  left  could  the  wailin'  begin  again. 

He  grew  older  and  grizzled, 
But  his  beard  sure  was  frizzled 

With  strong  manhood's  full  vigor ; 

He  grew  stouter  in  figure, 
But  niver  a  wan  of  us  thought  him  waiker  or  older. 
For  his  swate  laughter  mellow 
Made  him  seem  a  young  fellow 

When  sivinty  years'  labor 

With  his  crony  and  neighbor 
He  was  wearin'  with  honor  on  the  head  on  his  shoulder. 

I  am  thinkin'  his  lotions 
And  his  yarbs,  pills,  and  potions 
Counted  less  in  successes 
In  his  cures  of  distresses 
Than  the  force  of  the  great,  manly,  warm  bubblin'  heart  of 
him. 
For  his  mirth  drove  aich  ailment 
From  its  place  of  consalement, 
Enablin'  him  to  mate  it 
In  the  daylight  to  trate  it. 
And  'twas  sorra  the  sickness  that  e  'er  got  the  start  of  him. 

He  was  found  in  his  carriage. 

Coin'  home  from  a  marriage. 

Ninety  years  from  the  mornin' 
That  had  witnessed  his  bornin'. 
And  the  smile  was  still  playin'  on  his  faytures  unwrinkled. 

And  ochone !    there  was  sorra 

In  that  region  the  morra, 

Whin  his  old  neighbors  crowded 
Round  his  loved  form  white-shrouded. 
But  he  only  smiled  swater  as  the  water  was  sprinkled. 


138  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Father  Briardy  mintioned 

That  pure  grief  well-intintioned 

Sure  might  follow  a  mortal 
Who  had  passed  through  the  portal, 
But  that  weepin'  and  wailin'  had  no  charm  for  the  sleeper. 

So  our  tears  they  were  inded. 

Or  with  tinder  smiles  blinded, 

And  all  smiling  we  followed 
Where  his  grave  they  had  hollowed, 
And  we  flowered  his  coffin  and  left  him  with  the  Keeper. 

To  this  day  in  Killarney, 
'Tis  the  highest  of  blarney 

Just  to  hint  that  a  human, 
Be  it  man,  be  it  woman. 
Do  be  like  in  the  least  to  good  Doctor  O'Finnigan; 
For  his  name  brings  thoughts  tinder, 
While  the  smiles  the  tears  hinder, 

And  the  hearts  that  be  sorrowln*. 
From  his  glad  mim'ry  borrowin' 
Courage,  arise  from  despair  life's  battle  to  win  again. 

— Henry  A.  Van  Fredenberg. 


A  Discovery  in  Biology 

I  THINK  I  know  what  Cupid  Is: 
Bacteria  Amoris  ; 
And  when  he's  fairly  at  his  work, 

He  causes  dolor  cordis. 
So,  if  you'd  like,  for  this  disease, 

A  remedy  specific. 
Prepare  an  antitoxine,  please. 

By  methods  scientific. 
Inoculate  another  heart 

With  germs  of  this  affection. 
Apply  this  culture  to  your  own, 
'Twill  heal  you  to  perfection. 

— Mary  E.  Leverett. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  STORY  139 


The  Doctor's  Story 


00 D  folks  ever  will  have  their  way — 
Good  folks  ever  for  it  must  pay. 

^But  we,  who  are  here  and  everywhere, 
The  burden  of  their  faults  must  bear. 

We  must  shoulder  others'  shame — 
Fight  their  follies  and  take  their  blame  ; 

Purge  the  body,  and  humor  the  mind  ; 
Doctor  the  eyes  when  the  soul  is  blind ; 

Build  the  column  of  health  erect 
On  the  quicksands  of  neglect : 

Always  shouldering  others'  shame — 
Bearing  their  faults  and  taking  the  blame ! 

II. 

Deacon  Rogers,  he  came  to  me — 
"  Wife  is  agoin'  to  die,"  said  he. 

"  Doctors  great,  an'  doctors  small, 
Haven  't  improved  her  any  at  all. 

"  Physic  and  blister,  powders  and  pills, 
And  nothing  sure  but  the  doctors'  bills  ! 

"  Twenty  women,  with  remedies  new. 
Bother  my  wife  the  whole  day  through ; 

"Sweet  as  honey,  or  bitter  as  gall — 
Poor  old  woman,  she  takes  'em  all. 

"  Sour  or  sweet,  whatever  they  choose  ; 
Poor  old  woman,  she  daren't  refuse. 


140  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

"  So  she  pleases  whoe  'er  may  call, 
An'  Death  is  suited  the  best  of  all. 

"  Physic  and  blister,  powder  an'  pill — 
Bound  to  conquer,  and  sure  to  kill !  " 

in. 

Mrs.  Rogers  lay  in  her  bed, 

Bandaged  and  blistered  from  foot  to  head. 

Blistered  and  bandaged  from  head  to  toe, 
Mrs.  Rogers  was  very  low. 

Bottle  and  saucer,  spoon  and  cup. 
On  the  table  stood  bravely  up  ; 

Physics  of  high  and  low  degree ; 
Calomel,  catnip,  boneset  tea  ; 

Everything  a  body  could  bear, 
Excepting  light,  and  water,  and  air. 

I  opened  the  blinds ;  the  day  was  bright. 
And  God  gave  Mrs.  Rogers  some  light. 

IV. 

I  opened  the  window  ;  the  day  was  fair. 
And  God  gave  Mrs.  Rogers  some  air. 

Bottles  and  blister,  powders  and  pills, 
Catnip,  boneset,  sirups,  and  squills ; 

Drugs  and  medicines,  high  and  low, 
1  threw  them  as  far  as  I  could  throw. 

"  What  are  you  doing ?  "  my  patient  cried; 
"  Frightening  Death,"  I  coolly  replied. 

"  You  are  crazy!  "  a  visitor  said  ; 
I  flung  a  bottle  at  his  head. 


TO  DOCTOR  EMPIRIC  141 


Deacon  Rogers,  he  came  to  me  ; 
"Wife  is  comin'  round,"  said  he. 

"  I  really  think  she  will  worry  through ; 
She  scolds  me  just  as  she  used  to  do. 

'■  All  the  people  have  poohed  an'  slurred — 
All  the  neighbors  have  had  their  word ; 

"  'Twere  better  to  perish,  some  of  'em  say, 
Than  be  cured  in  such  an  irregular  way." 

VI. 

"Your  wife,"  said  I,  "  had  God's  good  care, 
And  His  remedies — light  and  water  and  air. 

"  All  the  doctors,  beyond  a  doubt, 

Couldn  't  have  cured  Mrs.  Rogers  without." 

VII. 

The  Deacon  smiled,  and  bowed  his  head, 
"  Then  your  bill  is  nothing,"  he  said. 

"  God's  be  the  glory  as  you  say  . 

God  bless  you,  doctor !  good-day  !  good-day  I " 

vin. 

If  ever  I  doctor  that  woman  again, 
I  '11  give  her  medicine  made  by  men. 

— Will  Carleton. 


To  Doctor  Empiric 

WHEN  men  a  dangerous  disease  did  'scape, 
Of  old,  they  gave  a  cock  to  ytsculape ; 
Let  me  give  two,  that  doubly  am  got  free ; 
From  my  disease's  danger,  and  from  thee. 

— Ben  Jonson. 


143  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Viri  Humani,  Salsi  Et  Faceti, 
Gulielmi  Sutherlandi, 

Multarum  Artium  Et  Scientiarum  Doctoris  Doctissimi. 

DIPLOMA. 

T    T  BIQUE  gentium  et  terrarum, 
/  }     From  Sutherland  to  Padanarum, 
I  nn     From  those  who  have  six  months  of  day, 
wfc-A  Ad  Caput  usque  Bonas  Spei, 
And  farther  yet,  si  forte  tendat 
Ne  ignorantiam  quis  praetendat, — 
We  doctors  of  the  Merry  Meeting 
To  all  and  sundry  do  send  greeting, 
Ut  omnes  habeant  compertum, 
Per  hanc  praesentem  nostram  chartam, 
Gulielmum  Sutherlandum  Scotum 
At  home  per  nomen  Bogsie  notum, 
Who  studied  stoutly  at  our  College, 
And  gave  good  specimens  of  knowledge 
In  multis  artibus  versatum. 
Nunc  factum  esse  doctoratum. 
Quoth  Preses,  Strictum  post  examen, 
"  Nunc  esto  Doctor"  ;  we  said,  "  Amen." 
So  to  you  all  hunc  commendamus, 
Ut  juvenem  quem  nos  amamus. 
Qui  multas  habet  qualitates 
To  please  all  humors  and  astates. 
He  vies,  if  sober,  with  Duns  Scotus, 
Sed  multo  magis  si  sit  potus. 
In  disputando  just  as  keen  as 
Calvin,  John  Knox,  or  Tom  Aquinas. 
In  every  question  of  theology, 
Versatus  multum  in  trickology  ; 


The  Doctor 


VIRI  HUMANI,  SALSI  ET  FACETI  143 

Et  in  catalogis  librorum 

Fraser  could  never  stand  before  him ; 

For  he,  by  page  and  leaf,  can  quote 

More  books  than  Solomon  e  'er  wrote. 

A  lover  of  the  mathematics 

He  is,  but  hates  the  hydrostatics. 

Because  he  thinks  it  a  cold  study 

To  deal  in  water,  clear  or  muddy. 

Doctissimus  est  medicinas. 

Almost  as  Boerhaave  or  Bellini, 

He  thinks  the  diet  of  Cornaro 

In  'neat  and  drink  too  scrimped  and  narrow, 

And  that  the  rules  of  Leonard  Lessius 

Are  good  for  nothing  but  to  stress  us. 

By  solid  arguments  and  keen 

He  has  confuted  Doctor  Cheyne, 

And  clearly  proven  by  demonstration 

That  claret  Is  a  good  collation. 

Saniset  asgris,  always  better 

Than  coffee,  tea,  or  milk  and  water ; 

That  cheerful  company,  cum  risu. 

Cum  vino  forti,  suavi  visu, 

Gustatu  dulci,  still  has  been 

A  cure  for  hypo  and  the  spleen ; 

That  hen  and  capon,  vervecina, 

Beef,  duck  and  pasties,  cum  ferind. 

Are  good  stomachics,  and  the  best 

Of  cordials,  probatum  est. 

♦  ***♦♦ 

A  good  French  nightcap  still  has  been, 

He  says,  a  proper  anodyne, 

Better  than  laudanum  or  poppy, 

Ut  dormiamus  like  a  toppy. 

Affirmat  lusum  alearum, 

Medicamentum  esse  clarum. 

Or  else  a  touch  at  three-hand  ombre 

When  toil  or  care  our  spirits  cumber. 

Which  graft  wings  on  our  hours  of  leisure. 

And  make  them  fly  with  ease  and  pleasure. 


144  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Aucupium  et  venationem, 
Post  longam  nimis  potationem, 
He  has  discovered  to  be  good 
Both  for  the  stomach  and  the  blood. 


He  clearly  proves  the  cause  of  death 
Is  nothing  but  the  want  of  breath ; 
And  that  indeed  is  a  disaster 
When  'tis  occasioned  by  a  plaster 
Of  hemp  and  pitch  laid  closely  on 
Somewhat  above  the  collar-bone. 


To  this,  and  ten  times  more  his  skill 
Extends,  when  he  could  cure  or  kill. 
Immensam  cognitionem  legum 
Ne  prorsus  hie  silentio  tegam. 
Cum  sociis  artis,  grease  his  fist, 
Torquebat  illas  as  you  list. 
If  laws  for  bribes  are  made,  'tis  plain 
They  may  be  bought  and  sold  again ; 
Spectando  aurum,  now  we  find 
That  Madam  Justice  is  stone-blind, 
So  deaf  and  dull  in  both  her  ears, 
The  clink  of  gold  she  only  hears ; 
Naught  else  but  a  loud  party  shout 
Will  make  her  start  or  look  about. 
His  other  talents  to  rehearse, 
Brevissime  in  prose  or  verse, 
To  tell  how  gracefully  he  dances. 
And  artfully  contrives  romances ; 
How  well  he  arches  and  shoots  flying 
(Let  no  man  think  that  we  mean  lying), 
How  well  he  fences,  rides  and  sings. 
And  does  ten-thousand  other  things ; 
Allow  a  line,  nay,  but  a  comma. 
To  each,  turgeret  hoc  diploma; 
Quare,  ut  tandem  concludamus. 
Qui  brevitatem  approbamus 


VIRI  HUMANI,  SALSI  ET  FACETI  145 

(For  brevity  Is  always  good, 
Providing  we  be  understood). 
In  rerum  omnium  naturis, 
Non  minus  quam  sclentia  juris 
Et  medicinas,  Doctoratum 
Bogsasum  novimus  versatum  ; 
Nor  shall  we  here  say  more  about  him, 
But  you  may  dacker  if  you  doubt  him. 
Addamus  tamen  hoc  tantillum, 
Duntaxat  nostrum  hoc  sigillum, 
Huic  testimonio  appensum, 
Ad  confirmandum  ejus  sensum, 
Junctis  chirographis  cunctorum. 
Blithe,  honest,  hearty  sociorum. 
Dabamus  at  a  large  punch-bowl 
Within  our  proper  common  school. 
The  twenty-sixth  day  of  November, 
Ten  years,  the  date  we  may  remember, 
After  the  race  of  Sheriffmuir 
(Scotsmen  will  count  from  a  black  hour), 
Ab  omni  probo  nunc  signetur, 
Qui  denegabit  extrudetur. 

FORMULA  GRADUS  DANDI. 

Eadem  nos  auctoritate, 
Reges  memorias  beatas, 
Pontifices  et  papas  lasti. 
Nam  alii  sunt  a  nobis  spretl, 
Quam  quondam  nobis  indulserunt, 
Qua;  privilegia  semper  erunt, 
Collegio  nostro  safe  and  sound, 
As  long's  the  earth  and  cups  go  round 
Te  Bogsasum  hie  creamus, 
Statuimus  et  proclamamus, 
Artium  Magistrum  et  Doctorem, 
Si  libet  etiam  Professorem  ; 
Tibique  damus  potestatem 
Potandl  ad  hilaritatem, 
Ludendi  porro  et  jocandi, 
Et  moestos  vino  medicandi, 


146  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Ad  risum  etiam  fabulandi ; 

In  promissionis  tuas  signum 

Caput,  honore  tanto  dignum 

Hoc  cyatho  condecoramus,* 

Ut  tibi  felix  sit  oramus ; 

Prgeterea  in  manum  damus 

Hunc  calicem,  qx  quo  potamus, 

Spumantem  generoso  vino, 

Ut  bibas  more  Palatino. 

Sir,  pull  it  off  and  on  your  thumb. 

Cernamus  supernaculum, 

Ut  specimen  ingenii 

Post  studia  decennii. 

(While  he  :s  drinking,  the  chorus  sings) 

*'  En  calicem  spumantem. 

Falerni  epotantem ; 

En  calicem  spumantem, 

lo,  io,  io." 

(After  he  has  drunk,  and  turned  the  glass 
on  his  thumb,  they  embrace  him,  and  sing 

AGAIN.) 

"  Laudamus  hunc  Doctorem 
Et  fidum  compotorem ; 
Laudamus  hunc  Doctorem, 
Io,  io,  io." 

— William  Meston,  M.  A. 


Surgeons  Must  Be  Very  Careful 

SURGEONS  must  be  very  careful 
When  they  take  the  knife  I 
Underneath  their  fine  incisions 
Stirs  the  Culprit,— Life  ! 

— Emily  Dickinson. 


*Here  he  was  crowned  with  the  punch-bowl. 


HIS  PNEUMOGASTRIC    NERVE  147 


His  Pneumogastric  Nerve 

PON  an  average,  twice  a  week, 

When  anguish  clouds  my  brow. 
My  good  physician  friend  I  seek 
■^     To  know  "what  ails  me  now." 
He  taps  me  on  the  back  and  chest 

And  scans  my  tongue  for  bile, 
And  lays  an  ear  against  my  breast 

And  listens  there  awhile. 
Then  is  he  ready  to  admit 
That  all  he  can  observe 
Is  something  wrong  inside,  to  wit : 
My  pneumogastric  nerve ! 

Now,  when  these  Latin  names  within 

Dyspeptic  hulks  like  mine 
Go  wrong,  a  fellow  should  begin 

To  draw  what 's  called  the  line. 
It  seems,  however,  that  this  same. 

Which  in  my  hulk  abounds. 
Is  not,  despite  its  avi^ul  name. 

So  fatal  as  it  sounds. 
Yet,  of  all  torments  known  to  me, 

I  '11  say  without  reserve 
There  is  no  torment  like  to  thee. 

Thou  pneumogastric  nerve ! 

This  subtle,  envious  nerve  appears 

To  be  a  patient  foe — 
It  waited  nearly  forty  years 

Its  chance  to  lay  me  low; 
Then  like  some  blithering  blast  of  hell. 

It  struck  this  guileless  bard, 
And  in  that  evil  hour  I  fell 

Prodigious  far  and  hard. 


148  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Alas  !  what  things  I  dearly  love — 
Pies,  puddings  and  preserves — 

Are  sure  to  rouse  the  vengeance  of 
All  pneumogastric  nerves ! 

Oh,  that  I  could  remodel  man ! 

1  'd  end  these  cruel  pains 
By  hitting  on  a  different  plan 

From  that  which  now  obtains. 
The  stomach,  greatly  amplified. 

Anon  should  occupy 
The  all  of  that  domain  inside 

Where  heart  and  lung  now  lie. 
But,  first  of  all,  I  should  dispose 

That  diabolic  curve 
And  author  of  my  thousand  woes, 

The  pneumogastric  nerve ! 

— Eugene  Field 


The  Army  Surgeon 

VER  that  breathing  waste  of  friends  and  foes, 
iThe  wounded  and  the  dying,  hour  by  hour, — 
'in  will  a  thousand,  yet  but  one  in  power, — 

He  labors  through  the  red  and  groaning  day. 
The  fearful  moorland  where  the  myriads  lay 
Moved  as  a  moving  field  of  mangled  worms. 
And  as  a  raw  brood,  orphaned  in  the  storms. 
Thrust  up  their  heads  if  the  wind  bend  a  spray 
Above  them,  but  when  the  bare  branch  performs 
No  sweet  parental  office,  sink  away 
With  hopeless  chirp  of  woe,  so  as  he  goes 
Around  his  feet  in  clamorous  agony 
They  rise  and  fall ;  and  all  the  seething  plain 
Bubbles  a  cauldron  vast  of  many-colored  pain. 

— Sydney  Dobell. 


A  CURE  FOR  THE  GOUT  149 


A  Cure  for  the  Gout 

NCE  flourished  a  famed  Dr.  Bluff. 
|A  diamond  'twas  said  in  the  rough, 
'He  spake  nothing  save  what  he  meant 
And  cared  little  whither  it  went. 
He  groped  not  around  in  the  dark 
But  directly  he  shot  at  the  mark. 
Prescriptions  to  cure  did  he  give 
in  hopes  that  a  patient  might  live. 
And  winced  not  at  scruple  or  gall 
Did  his  treatment  the  timid  appal ; 
He  brandished  his  surgical  knife 
As  though  he  demanded  your  life 
Or  were  fresh  from  a  clinical  strife. 
But,  if  so  apparently  rude. 
All  knew  him  both  skilful  and  good. 
Possessed  of  a  sound  heart  and  mind 
With  sense  and  with  science  combined. 
Those  ill  oft  applied  for  his  care 
As  if  he  were  more  debonair, 
Unallured  by  deportment  or  speech 
Well  assured  the  disease  he  could  reach — 
A  practice  they  sought  that  could  preach. 
Mrs.  Calamus  long  had  employed 
This  healer  and  ne  'er  felt  annoyed 
When  his  phrase  had  less  sugar  than  salt- 
Always  ready  his  worth  to  exalt. 
More  sensitive  far  was  her  lord 
Whom  gout  had  tight  bound  with  its  cord, 
Though  kind  he  was  troubled  with  spleen 
That  often  towards  Mars  would  careen, 
Yet  afterwards  all  was  serene. 
He  adored  his  most  tractable  wife, 
The  motive  and  prop  of  his  life, 


150  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

While  no  one  who  caused  her  a  pain 

Had  courage  to  cause  it  again. 

One  day  when  confined  to  his  bed 

Of  the  slightest  disturbance  in  dread. 

He  sent  for  his  friend,  Dr.  Bluff, 

To  soothe  him  with  sanative  stuff. 

The  Doctor  made  haste  to  obey 

Such  a  call  without  any  delay — 

And  rode  even  out  of  his  way. 

Some  drops  did  the  healer  prescribe. 

Leaving  word  that  the  patient  imbibe 

The  same  at  the  mid  hour  of  night 

And  when  morn  should  awaken  the  light: 

His  wife  was  to  give  him  each  dose, 

She  only  allowed  to  come  close ; 

All  others  a  terror  would  seize 

Who  approached  when  he  writhed  with  disease. 

Sleep,  alas!  did  the  watcher  o'erpower. 

While  slipped  unregarded  the  hour 

When  the  patient  his  physic  should  take, 

That  torture  his  limbs  might  forsake. 

The  sufferer  next  day  became  worse 

Through  the  nap  unforeseen  of  his  nurse. 

The  Doctor,  returned  to  his  post, 

Found  Calamus  pale  as  a  ghost 

And  shrewdly  began  to  suspect 

Why  his  potion  was  void  of  effect — 

That  'twas  caused  by  a  woman's  neglect. 

When  convinced  his  suspicions  were  true. 

At  random  wild  epithets  flew. 

His  anger  was  uttered  aloud 

As  though  it  were  launched  at  a  crowd, 

And  she  on  whose  head  it  was  heaped 

In  heart-rending  anguish  was  steeped: 

It  came  like  the  rattle  of  hail 

Or  like  a  cyclonical  gale  ; 

Professional  dignity  mocked, 

Reputation  most  sensitive  shocked, 

Took  form  in  profaneness  of  speech 

From  the  skilled  though  irascible  leech. 


ON  A  QUACK  151 

While  thus  to  his  rage  he  gave  vent 
On  the  partner  most  innocent  spent, 
The  husband  uneasily  lay 
On  his  couch  like  a  hound  held  at  bay. 
He  groaned  that  he  had  not  a  chance 
The  Insulter  to  strike  with  a  lance  ; 
The  physician  with  wrath  so  inflamed 
That  his  own  ebullition  was  shamed. 
Like  a  lion  aroused  by  his  foe 
He  assayed  for  the  Doctor  to  go, 
A  unicorn's  strength  he  received 
As  he  sought  to  avenge  the  aggrieved. 
He  leaped  from  his  bed  to  the  floor 
While  the  latter  in  fright  sought  the  door. 
But  Calamus  seized  his  coat-tail 
And  his  biceps  came  down  like  a  flail 
Till  at  last  cried  "  enough,  hold,  enough !  " 
The  defeated  and  crest-fallen  Bluff. 


Of  Galen-traditions  galore 

None  truer  than  this  were  of  yore ; 

It  was  said  that  the  Doctor  brought  low. 

To  anger  in  time  became  slow. 

While  far  spread  the  tidings  about — 

Though  somewhat  heroic  no  doubt — 

He  had  found  a  new  cure  for  the  Gout. 

— Edward  Octavus  Flacg. 


On  a  Quack 

THIS  quack  to  Charon  would  his  penny  pay: 
The  grateful  ferryman  was  heard  to  say — 
*'  Return,  my  friend!  and  live  for  ages  more. 
Or  I  must  haul  my  useless  boat  ashore." 

— William  Wadd. 


152  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Surgery  vs.  Medicine 

PRIORITY  IN  AGE   AND  DEVELOPMENT  CLAIMED  FOR  THE  PLAINTIFF. 

Delivered  at  the  banquet  given  at  Delmonico's  to  the  students 
and  alumni  of  the  New  York  Homoeopathic  Medical  College, 
March  8,  1887,  and  also  at  the  dinner  given  by  the  English  phy- 
sicians to  the  International  Congress,  June,  1881,  at  the  CritC' 
rion,  London. 

{  '  AM  a  surgeon,  and  in  making  this  assertion 
'>  )    'Tis  my  apology  for  doing  what  I  can 
jr   To  set  aside  that  undeserved  aspersion 
■  •    That  says,  while  medicine  is  quite  as  old  as  man. 
Holding  within  its  vast  consideration 

All  wisdom,  learning,  ethics,  and  decorum, 
That  surgery  is  claimed,  as  is  a  poor  relation, 

Being  at  best  "  the  opprobrium  medicorum." 

'Tis  certainly  a  subject  for  humility. 

And  one  'tis  hard  for  doctors  to  endure. 
That  they  must  own  their  utter  inability 

In  many  cases  to  effect  a  cure  ; 
And  then,  with  shrugs  and  sighs,  their  patients  urge  on 

To  give  themselves  their  only  chance  for  life 
By  calling  on  the  poor,  forgotten  surgeon. 

Who  cuts  and  cures  them  with  the  dreaded  knife. 

But  as  for  age,  I  '11  prove  'tis  all  a  libel, 

(The  statement 's  bold,  but  I  could  make  it  bolder) 
For  on  no  less  authority  than  the  Bible 

I  'II  prove  that  surgery  is  surely  older 
Than  any  form  of  med'cine  whatsoever ; 

And  having  finished,  will  appeal  to  the  majority. 
And  have  the  point  adjusted  here  forever, 

That  "  SURGERY  IN  AGE  Can  claim  priority," 


SURGERY  vs.  MEDICINE  153 

'Tis  true  the  snake  aroused  the  curiosity, 

And  gave  to  Eve  the  apple  fair  and  bright ; 
She  ate,  and  with  a  fatal  generosity 

Inveigled  Adam  to  a  luscious  bite. 
That  from  that  time  disease  and  suffering  came, 

Doctors  were  called  upon  to  cure  the  evil ; 
The  art  of  healing,  then,  with  all  its  fame. 

Was  AT  THE  FIRST  developed  by  the  devil. 

Med  'cine  thus  stands  coeval  with  the  sinning 

Of  mother  Eve.  fair  creature,  though  quite  human. 
While  noble  surgery  had  its  beginning 

In  Paradise  BEFORE  there  was  a  woman. 
The  facts  are  patent,  and  we  all  agree 

'Twas  Satan  laid  on  man  the  direful  rod  ; 
That  DOCTORS  are  the  Devil's  progeny, 

While  surgeons  come  directly  down  from  God! 

For  thus  we  read  (although  the  analgesia 

Of  Richardson  was  then  entirely  unknown) 
Adam  profoundly  slept  with  anaesthesia. 

And  from  his  thorax  was  removed  a  bone. 
This  was  the  first  recorded  operation, 

(No  doctor  here  dare  tell  me  that  I  fib ! ) 
And  surgery,  thus  early  in  creation, 

Can  claim  complete  excision  of  a  rib  I 

But  this  is  nothing  to  the  obligation 

The  world  to  surgery  must  ever  own. 
When  woman,  loveliest  of  the  creation. 

Grew  and  developed  from  that  very  bone. 
Then  lovesick  swains  began  indicting  sonnets, 

And  Fashion  talked  with  Folly  by  the  way. 
Then  came  bulimia  for  becoming  bonnets — 

Hereditary  epidemic  of  today. 

Then,  too,  began  those  endless  loves  and  frolics 
That  poets  sing  in  soft  and  sweet  refrains. 

Doctors  grew  frantic  o  'er  infantile  colics. 

Announced  at  midnight  with  angelic  strains. 


154  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


From  this  the  world  was  peopled.     So  Doctors  own, 
While  you  lay  claim  to  such  superiority, 

That  surgery  in  the  development  of  bone 

As  well  as  age,  can  clearly  claim  priority. 

My  task  is  done,  and  with  my  best  endeavor 

I  have  essayed  to  vindicate  my  art ; 
So  list  my  friends,  ere  friendly  ties  we  sever, 

While  waning  moments  bring  the  hour  to  part. 
Whatever  land,  whatever  clime  may  hold  you, 

Some  time  give  honor  to  the  bright  scalpel, 
And  when  you  recollect  what  I  have  told  you, 

Remember  me — 'tis  all  I  ask.     Farewell. 

— Dr.  William  Tod  Helmuth. 


Kindness  First  Known  in  a  Hospital 

THE  place  seemed  new  and  strange  as  death. 
The  white  strait  bed,  with  others  strait  and  white. 
Like  graves  dug  side  by  side  at  measured  lengths. 
And  quiet  people  walking  in  and  out 
With  wonderful  low  voices  and  soft  steps, 
And  apparitional  equal  care  for  each, 
Astonished  her  with  order,  silence,  law: 
And  when  a  gentle  hand  held  out  a  cup, 
She  took  it  as  you  do  at  sacrament. 
Half  awed,  half  melted, — not  being  used,  indeed. 
To  so  much  love  as  makes  the  form  of  love 
And  courtesy  of  manners.     Delicate  drinks 
And  rare  white  bread,  to  which  some  dying  eyes 
Were  turned  in  observation.     0  my  God, 
How  sick  we  must  be  ere  we  make  men  just ! 
I  think  it  frets  the  saints  in  heaven  to  see 
How  many  desolate  creatures  on  the  earth 
Have  learnt  the  simple  dues  of  fellowship 
And  social  comfort,  in  a  hospital. 

— Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL  155 


In  the  Hospital 


RIMED  with  misery,  want,  and  sin, 

Fronn  a  drunken  brawl  they  brought  him  in, 

c^While  tearless-eyed  around  his  bed. 
They  whispered  coldly:     He  is  dead. 

And  looked  askance  as  they  went  past, 

And  said:     Best  so.     He  has  sinned  his  last. 

But  the  Doctor  came  and  declared :     Not  so. 
A  fragment  of  life  yet  lies  aglow. 

And  day  and  night  beside  the  bed. 
He  bent  his  skilful,  earnest  head ; 

By  night,  by  day,  with  toil,  with  pain, 
Coaxed  back  the  worthless  life  again ; 

Coaxed  back  the  life  so  nearly  told. 

And  the  man  returned  to  his  ways  of  old, — 

Returned  unchanged  to  his  old,  sad  ways. 
And  sinned  and  sinned  to  the  end  of  his  days. 

And  the  Doctor  wrote  in  his  private  book: 
Sin,  Sorrow,  Wrong,  where'er  I  look. 

I  have  saved  a  hideous  life.     And  why? 
That  a  man  curse  God  again,  and  die. 

II. 

The  mother  smiled  through  her  wretchedness, 
For  the  new-born  babe  lay  motionless. 


156  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  the  nurses  looked  at  her  ringless  hand. 
Best  dead,  they  said.     We  understand. 

But  the  Doctor  came  and  declared :     Not  so. 
A  fragment  of  life  yet  lies  aglow. 

And  wrestling  close  and  long  with  Death, 
He  brought  again  the  faltering  breath, 

And  gave  the  poor  unwelcome  life 
Back  to  the  mother  who  was  not  wife. 

And  she  took  it  with  loathing  and  bore  off  in  shame 
The  babe  for  whom  Earth  had  no  place  when  it  came. 

And  the  Doctor  wrote  in  his  private  book : 
Sin,  Sorrow,  Wrong,  where'er  I  look. 

I  have  saved  a  needless  life.     And  why? 
That  a  babe  risk  Heaven  ere  it  die. 

III. 

With  pitying  hands  and  gentle  feet. 

They  bore  in  a  child  struck  down  on  the  street, 

Mangled  and  bruised  in  every  limb. 
With  brow  snow-cold  and  blue  eyes  dim. 

And  they  kissed  the  silk  hair  on  his  golden  head. 
And  sobbed :     Thank  God,  the  sweet  child  is  dead. 

But  the  Doctor  came  and  declared :     Not  so. 
A  fragment  of  life  yet  lies  aglow. 

And  day  and  night,  beside  the  bed, 
He  bent  his  skilful,  earnest  head, 

With  patience,  care,  and  tireless  pain, 
Won  back  the  broken  life  again ; 

Won  it  back  from  the  brink  of  Death's  calm  river. 
To  struggle,  and  sicken,  and  suffer  forever; 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL  157 

Won  it  back  from  the  merciful  shores  of  the  dead, 
To  lie  through  slow  years  on  a  terrible  bed. 

And  the  Doctor  wrote  in  his  private  book : 
Sin,  Sorrow,  Wrong,  where'er  I  look. 

I  have  saved  a  sorrowful  life.     And  why  ? 
That  a  child  taste  of  Hell  ere  men  let  him  die. 

And  the  Doctor  closed  his  book,  and  said : 
Three  live  by  me  who  best  were  dead. 

BEYOND  THE  HOSPITAL 

The  Doctor's  work  was  done.     He  lay 
Upon  his  death-bed,  old  and  gray, 

With  the  look  on  his  face  as  of  one  who  has  wept, 
And  has  labored  and  watched  while  his  fellows  have  slept. 

And  he  folded  his  hands  on  his  weary  breast, 

And  murmured:  Come,  Death.     1  am  ready  for  rest. 

God  judge  of  me  lightly.     1  did  what  I  could. 
And  yet  have  wrought  evil  in  striving  for  good. 

And  swiftly,  lo,  all  space  was  riven 
To  where  the  Angels  stood  in  Heaven. 

And  he  heard  one  say:     A  wise  man  dies. 
Is  it  time  I  went  down  and  closed  his  eyes  ? 

Not  yet,  they  said.     'Tis  in  his  book : 
Sin,  Sorrow,  Wrong,  where  'er  I  look. 

Is  he  ready  for  Heaven  who  needs  to  learn  first, 
God's  hand  brings  a  blessing  e  'en  out  of  life's  worst  ? 

Not  yet,  said  they.     This  wise  man  said  : 
Three  live  by  me  who  best  were  dead. 

Is  he  ready  for  death,  knowing  not  what  life  meant. 
That  no  being  lives  but  to  some  good  intent  ? 


158  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  the  Angels  stood  beside  his  bed. 
Unlearn  Earth's  falsehoods,  friend,  they  said. 

And  the  Doctor  uplifted  his  questioning  gaze. 
And  saw  through  the  world  and  its  innermost  ways, 

Where  groveled  a  mortal,  close  wrapped  in  his  sin, 
Degraded  without  and  degraded  within. 

God  forgive  !  groaned  the  Doctor.     I  am  the  cause 
Yon  creature  yet  liveth  to  transgress  Thy  laws. 

Speak  soft,  said  the  Angels.     How  mayest  thou  tell 
What  moment  of  sinning  condemns  him  to  Hell? 

Or  how  knowest  thou  but  some  late  day  of  grace 
May  find,  e  'en  for  him,  in  high  Heaven  a  place? 

Leave  God  to  adjudge  him.     Thou  seest  in  part ; 
Thou  look  'st  at  the  life ;  God  looks  at  the  heart. 

Oh  pity  him,  help  him  !  but  dare  not  to  say 
It  were  better  to  shorten  his  life  by  a  day  ; 

For  as  red  flags  of  danger  warn  off  from  the  road. 
So  yon  erring  soul  hath  led  many  to  God. 

The  Doctor  smiled  softly :  I  understand. 

God  holds,  e'en  for  sinners,  some  work  in  His  hand. 

And  he  turned  his  wondering  eyes  away 
To  where  a  craddled  infant  lay, 

While  the  mother  hung  o  'er  it  with  love  and  with  shame, 
For  she  gave  it  a  life,  but  could  give  it  no  name. 

God  forgive  !    cried  the  Doctor.     The  babe  but  for  me, 
Had  been  spared  all  knowledge  of  Earth's  infamy. 

Speak  soft,  said  the  Angels.     That  babe  is  the  link 
To  draw  her  soul  back  from  destruction's  brink. 


IN  THE  HOSPITAL  159 

There  is  nobler  work  given  those  puny  hands, 
Than  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  Angel  bands. 

Oh  pity  it,  shield  it !  but  dare  not  to  say 
It  were  better  to  shorten  its  life  by  a  day: 

For  sweeter  is  Rest,  won  through  danger  and  toil : 
And  purer  is  Purity  treasured  through  soil. 

The  Doctor  smiled  softly:  The  longer  our  strife, 
The  nobler  is  winning  the  heavenly  life. 

And  he  turned  his  tear-dim  eyes  away 
To  where  a  child  complaining  lay. 

Struggling  and  spent  with  incurable  pain, 
While  Death  stood  aloof,  and  science  was  vain. 

God  forgive  I  moaned  the  Doctor.    The  child,  but  for  me. 
Had  never  awakened  to  life's  cruelty. 

Speak  soft,  said  the  Angels.     How  mayest  thou  know 
What  beautiful  growth  comes  to  Earth  of  his  woe  ? 

Oh  pity  him,  love  him  !  but  dare  not  to  say 
It  were  better  to  shorten  his  life  by  a  day ! 

For  like  flowers  that  spring  but  on  sunless  knolls, 
Some  graces  bloom  only  in  tortured  souls. 

And  a  hundred  hearts,  all  for  the  sake  of  that  one, 
Are  learning  the  beauty  of  duties  done ; 

Are  learning  unselfishness,  thoughtfulness,  care, 
By  the  side  of  that  pain  which  they  may  not  share. 

And  the  sufferer — Heaven  deserteth  such  not; 
God's  arm  is  around  him ;  envy  his  lot. 

Amen !  said  the  Doctor.     God  stoops  to  the  weak. 
'Tis  they  who  are  strongest  have  farthest  to  seek. 


160  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Oh,  blessed  all  lives,  since  for  each  God  hath  use, 
Despite  of  sin,  sorrow,  and  wrong,  and  abuse  ! 

I  thank  Thee,  I  thank  Thee,  O  God,  that  those  three 
Whose  lives  I  deplored  are  yet  living  by  me. 

Then  low  spoke  the  Angels :     Now  tell  it  in  Heaven 
A  glad  soul  the  more  to  our  fair  Realm  is  given. 

And  the  sunlight  fell  soft  as  God's  kiss  on  his  head, 
And  men  stooped  o'er  him  weeping,  and   said  :     He   is 
dead. 

But  his  lips  wore  a  smile  of  supremest  content 
And  of  infinite  calm.     For  he  knew  what  Life  meant. 
— Grace  Denio  Litchfield. 


A  Young  Doctor's  Apology  for  the  Smoothness 
of  His  Face 

WHAT  1  praise  my  rosy  cheeks  and  youthful  face  ? 
Alas  1  such  features  would  my  rank  disgrace. 
Such  beauties  suit  fair  ladies  of  eighteen, 
And  not  a  doctor's  philosophic  mien. 
The  beetle  brow,  the  wrinkle  deep  and  wide, 
A  pompous  look  by  studious  thoughts  supplied. 
Are  a  sage  doctor's  charms.     No  more  upbraid 
My  miss-like  visage.     Lately  I  surveyed 
In  yonder  stream  my  phiz,  and  found  it  rough 
With  wrinkles,  and  for  a  doctor's  grave  enough. 
Besides,  revolving  years  will  soon  destroy 
Whate  'er  remains  that  marks  me  for  a  boy  : 
Yet  still  I  hope  they  will  not  snatch  one  part 
Of  the  fair  image  of  an  honest  heart. 

— Johannes  Santolius. 


THE  SKELETON  161 


The  Skeleton 

OOD-EVENING.  Sexton  1    Don't  lose  your 

breath ! 
[You  are  not  shaking  the  hand  of  Death  ! 
For  I  'm  a  skeleton,  you  must  know ; 
I  just  came  out  of  the  grave  below. 
For  years  I  've  noticed  your  careless  tread, 
And  harmless  whistling  above  the  dead. 
Though  I  'm  a  stranger,  I  know  you  well. 
And  grieve  that  longer  I  cannot  dwell 
Whithin  old  Trinity's  churchyard  block. 
While  those  Italians  are  blasting  rock  ! 

Oh,  I  'm  a  skeleton,  you  must  know! 
I  've  left  my  tenement  down  below  ! 
I'm  forced  to  move  to  an  uptown  flat ; 
The  rooms  are  smaller,  but  what  of  that  > 

Yes,  I  'm  a  relic  of  long  ago  ! 
I  've  slept  a  century  down  below  ! 
My  name  is  gone  from  the  crumbling  stone  ; 
There  's  nothing  left  of  myself  but  bone. 
A  Knickerbocker  I  am  of  old  ! 
The  grave's  "  Four  Hundred,"  when  all  is  told. 
Within  old  Trinity's  churchyard  lie — 
And  so  exclusive  !     But  here 's  good-by  ! 
For  things  are  coming  to  such  a  pass 
The  dead  can 't  sleep  for  the  smell  of  gas. 
Oh,  I  'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

I  left  this  land  to  my  next  of  kin. 

All  save  the  spot  I  was  buried  in. 

They  wet  my  bones  with  their  useless  tears. 

But  bones  and  memories  fade  with  years  ; 

6-11 


162  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Then  came  the  lawyer  to  break  the  will ; 
The  land  went  after  to  pay  the  bill. 
Now  strangers  come  with  their  ceaseless  tread 
And  grudge  the  space  of  my  folding-bed  ; 
They  crowd  me  so  in  the  narrow  tomb, 
I  '11  have  to  look  for  another  room. 
Oh,  I  'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

Farewell,  old  Sexton,  for  we  must  part ! 
I  'd  heave  a  sigh,  but  I  have  no  heart ; 
'Twas  at  post-mortem  when  some  old  quack 
Took  heart  and  lungs  which  he  brought  not  back. 
He  took  whatever  he  found  inside. 
As  proof  conclusive  the  corpse  had  died. 
He  robbed  the  dead  with  a  grewsome  theft ; 
The  microbes  dining  on  what  was  left. 
The  dead  breathe  not  as  the  living  do  : 
The  ribs  are  open,  the  air  blows  through. 
Oh,  I  'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

From  lack  of  food  I  have  grown  so  thin 
I  've  hardly  features  enough  to  grin. 
Your  tenant  longer  I  may  not  be 
Since  death  and  progress  cannot  agree  ; 
For  who  can  tell  what  the  sound  forebodes 
To  one  entombed,  when  the  gas  explodes? 
I  might  have  slept  till  the  final  fire, 
But  touched  my  foot  on  a  subway  wire. 
Which  gave  my  rickety  nerves  a  shock, 
So  up  I  jumps  and  I  dons  my  frock. 
Oh,  I  'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

Life  is  uncertain,  but  death  is  sure ; 
And  one  dies  rich  but  to  wake  up  poor ! 
However  big  the  estate  one  owns, 
Some  stranger  scatters  his  worthless  bones  1 
'Tis  just  as  well,  for  the  moldy  grave 
Gives  little  rest  near  the  rattling  pave ; 
And  very  few  are  the  nights  we  pass 
Without  a  whiff  of  the  sewer  gas : 


SYNONYMES  163 

For  though  I  am  dead,  you  must  not  suppose 
I  lost  my  smell  when  I  lost  my  nose. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc..  etc. 

We  lonely  skeletons  used  to  laugh 
To  hear  the  click  of  the  telegraph  ; 
But  now  v/e  tremble  In  every  bone 
When  folks  "  Hello  !  "  on  the  telepnone  f 
Though  steam  heat  lessen  the  graveyard  chill 
The  Knickerbocker  cannot  lie  still 
Though  modern  faith  would  the  thought  dispel, 
He  still  believes  in  the  old-time  hell, 
And  has  good  reason  to  fear  the  worst 
Has  come  to  him  when  the  steam  pipes  burst! 
Oh,  Tm  a  skeleto.n.  eic,  ttc. 

— Fred  Emerson  Brooks. 


Synonymes. 

WHEN  Caroline  Ingalls 
Was  ill  of  the  shingles. 
Her  neighbor  came  over  the  way; 
"  I'm  not  for  a  visit. 
But  Biddy  what  is  it 
that  ails  Mrs.  Ingalls,  I  pray?' 

As  Biddy  looked  at  her. 

The  NAME  of  the  matter 
Went  off  on  a  hide-and-seek  play. 

But  the  SUBSTANCE  took  shaping, 

While  at  the  roof  gaping : 
"  Faith,  Ma'am,  'tis  the  clapboards,  they  say  !" 
— ChAixi-wTTE  FisKE  Bates. 


164  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Drug  Clerk 

^  ■   WEARY  of  a  life  like  this, 
]     Repose  I  'm  sadly  needing. 
But  chances  of  ulterior  bliss 


Are  rapidly  receding. 


How  can  I  'mid  poetic  sweets 

Divinely  bask  and  frolic, 
When  some  one  while  I  'm  reading  Keats, 

Comes  in  and  yells  with  colic? 

And  how  when  dreaming  of  soft  rills 
And  moonbeams  sympathetic, 

Can  1  prepare  a  pint  of  squills. 

Or  some  fierce,  brown  emetic? 

To  scan  the  laureate's  noble  book, 
I  have  no  time  nor  leisure. 

And  should  I  try  to  read  "  The  Brook." 
I  'm  called  on  for  magnesia  1 

And  when  grand  Milton  most  exalts 
My  mind  and  mood  and  manner. 

Ten  orders  come  for  Epsom  salts 
And  ipecacuana  I 

1  cannot  find,  I  grieve  to  say, 

A  single  moment  handy. 
And  I  believe  the  town  today 

Drinks  far  more  drugs  than  brandy ! 

The  mass  of  quinine  people  buy. 
Is  something  most  terrific. 

For  castor  oil  the  children  cry, 
The  whole  town  is  morbific  ! 


CRANNY'S  "YARBS"  165 

And  then,  besides,  a  dire  mistake 

Was  mine  today,  while  dreamdig, 

The  cough-stuff  that  I  had  to  make, 
I  fear  with  strychnine  's  teeming  i 

And  so  I  have  resolved  tonight, 

No  more  to  be  a  moaner, 
But  read  rriy  Byron  out  of  sight. 

Somewhere  in  Arizona. 

— Francis  Saltus  Saltus. 


Granny's  "Yarbs" 

SHE  dosed  the  boy  with  calomel, 
Then  gave  him  catnip  tea ; 
And  yet  he  didn  't  feel  quite  well — 
He  had  the  grip,  you  see. 

She  gave  him  tansy,  boneset,  squills 

Rubbed  tallow  on  his  chest, 
Anc  fed  him  lots  of  blue-mass  pills, 

Which  quickly  did  the  rest. 

By  this  time  John  could  not  get  up. 

And,  as  he  lay  in  bed. 
She  drenched  him  from  a  quassia  cup 

Till  he  was  nearly  dead. 

And  when  at  last  the  doctor  came 
And  fetched  poor  Johnny  'round. 

Folks  said:     "  'Twas  Granny,  all  the  same. 
Kept  him  above  the  ground." 

— John  Lancdon  Heaton. 


166  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Doctor  in  Love 

EWITCHING, beauteous,  cruel  Jane  McSparrowl 

My  bosom's  lord  no  longer  its  own  lord  is ; 
Inspired  by  thee,  Dan  Cupid's  fatal  arrow 
Has  pierced  my  apex  cordis. 

No  knock  I  heed,  nor  answer  any  call ; 

No  action  have  in  ilium  or  duodenum  ; 
Spleen,  pancreas,  colon,  stomach,  liver,  all 

Have  something  very  odd  in  'em. 

My  outward  size  is  fitted  to  deceive  ; 

By  stays  and  padding  I  'm  a  hollow  sham  ; 
My  inward  sighs  with  painful  labor  heave 
My  wasted  diaphragm. 

My  brachials  are  gone,  my  deltoid  dwindles  ; 
This  pectoralis  major  's  all  unreal ; 
These  shanks,  so  shapely  once,  are  now  but  spindles, 
From  lack  of  popliteal. 

Masseters  and  molars  have  no  further  use  ; 

For  weeks  a  score  I  've  fed  on  thinest  gruel ; 
Gone  are  the  functions  of  the  gastric  juice. 
For  want  of  gastric  fuel. 

Of  best  prescriptions  I  have  taken  twenty ; 

Spts.  vin.  gal, — (I  hardly  dare  exhibit  'em); 
Decoct.  Hord.  Oct.  I,  ter  in  die  ;  Spiritus  frumentie 
Cape  ab  libitum, 

But  all  In  vain  :  a  subject,  a  cadaver, 

I  hasten  toward  that  tenement  so  narrow  ; 
Foredoomed  I  am,  since  fated  not  to  have  her — 
Sweet,  cruel,  Jane  McSparrow. 

—Dr.  Andrew  McFarlanh. 


THE  ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH  167 


The  Art  of  Preserving  Health 

DIET 

NOUGH  of  air.     A  desert  subject  now, 
'Rougher  and  wilder,  rises  to  my  sight. 
A  barren  waste,  where  not  a  garland  grows 
-^To  bind  the  Muse's  brow  ;  not  even  a  proud 
Stupendous  solitude  frowns  o  'er  the  heath, 
To  rouse  a  noble  horror  in  the  soul : 
But  rugged  paths  fatigue,  and  error  leads 
Through  endles  labyrinths  the  devious  feet. 
Farewell,  etherial  fields  !  the  humbler  arts 
Of  life  ;  the  table  and  the  homely  gods 
Demand  my  song.     Elysian  gales,  adieu  ! 

The  blood,  the  fountain  whence  the  spirits  flow. 
The  generous  stream  that  waters  every  part, 
And  motion,  vigor,  and  warm  life  conveys 
To  every  particle  that  moves  or  lives  ; 
This  vital  fluid,  through  unnumbered  tubes 
Poured  by  the  heart,  and  to  the  heart  again 
Refunded  ;  scourged  forever  round  and  round  ; 
Enraged  with  heat  and  toil,  at  last  forgets 
Its  balmy  nature  ;  virulent  and  thin 
It  grows  :  and  now,  but  that  a  thousand  gates 
Are  open  to  its  flight,  it  would  destroy 
The  parts  it  cherished  and  repaired  before. 
Besides,  the  flexible  and  tender  tubes 
Melt  in  the  mildest,  most  nectareous  tide 
That  ripening  nature  rolls ;  as  in  the  stream 
Its  crumbling  banks  ;  but  what  the  vital  force 
Of  plastic  fluids  hourly  batters  down, 
That  very  force  those  plastic  particles 
Rebuild:  so  mutable  the  state  of  man. 
For  this  the  watchful  appetite  was  given, 


168  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Daily  with  fresh  materials  to  repair 

This  unavoidable  expense  of  life, 

This  necessary  waste  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Hence  the  concoctive  powers,  with  various  art, 

Subdue  the  cruder  aliments  to  chyle  ; 

The  chyle  to  blood :  the  foamy  purple  tide 

To  liquors,  which  through  finer  arteries 

To  different  parts  their  winding  course  pursue  ; 

To  try  new  changes,  and  new  forms  put  on, 

Or  for  the  public,  or  some  private  use. 

Nothing  so  foreign  but  the  athletic  hind 
Can  labor  into  blood.     The  hungry  meal 
Alone  he  fears,  or  aliments  too  thin ; 
By  violent  powers  too  easily  subdued. 
Too  soon  expelled.     His  daily  labor  thaws 
To  friendly  chyle  the  most  rebellious  mass 
That  salt  can  harden,  or  the  smoke  of  years  ; 
Nor  does  his  gorge  the  lucious  bacon  rue, 
Nor  that  which  Cestria  sends,  tenacious  paste 
Of  solid  milk.     But  ye  of  softer  clay, 
Infirm  and  delicate  !  and  ye  who  waste 
With  pale  and  bloated  sloth  the  tedious  day  ! 
Avoid  the  stubborn  aliment,  avoid 
The  full  repast ;  and  let  sagacious  age 
Grow  wiser,  lessoned  by  the  dropping  teeth. 

Half  subtilized  to  chyle,  the  liquid  food 
Readiest  obeys  the  assimilating  powers 
And  soon  the  tender  vegetable  mass 
Relents  ;  and  soon  the  young  of  those  that  tread 
The  steadfast  earth,  or  cleave  the  green  abyss. 
Or  pathless  sky.     And  if  the  steer  must  fall. 
In  youth  and  sanguine  vigor  let  him  die  ; 
Nor  stay  till  rigid  age  or  heavy  ails 
Absolve  him  ill  requited  from  the  yoke. 
Some  with  high  forage  and  luxuriant  ease 
Indulge  the  veteran  ox  ;  but  wiser  thou. 
From  the  bald  mountain  or  the  barren  downs, 
Expect  the  flocks  by  frugal  nature  fed  ; 
A  race  of  purer  blood,  with  exercise 
Refined  and  scanty  fare  :  for,  old  or  young. 


THE  ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH  169 

The  stalled  are  never  healthy  ;  nor  the  cramnried. 

Not  all  the  culinary  arts  can  tame, 

To  wholesome  food,  the  abominable  growth 

Of  rest  and  gluttony  ;  the  prudent  taste 

Rejects,  like  bane,  such  loathsome  lusciousness. 

The  languid  stomach  curses  even  the  pure 

Delicious  fat,  and  all  the  race  of  oil  : 

For  more  the  oily  aliments  relax 

I:s  feeble  tone  ;  and  with  the  eager  lymph 

(Fond  to  incorporate  with  all  it  meets) 

Coyly  they  mix,  and  shun  with  slippery  wiles 

The  wooed  embrace.     The  irresoluble  oil, 

So  gentle  late  and  blandishing,  in  floods 

Of  rancid  bile  o  'erflows  :  what  tumults  hence. 

What  horrors  rise,  were  nauseous  to  relate. 

Choose  leaner  viands,  ye  whose  jovial  make 

Too  fast  the  gummy  nutriment  imbibes  : 

Choose  sober  meals ;  and  rouse  to  active  life 

Your  cumbrous  clay  ;  nor  on  the  enfeebling  down, 

Irresolute,  protract  the  morning  hours. 

But  let  the  man  whose  bones  are  thinly  clad, 

With  cheerful  ease  and  succulent  repast 

Improve  his  habit  if  he  can  ;  for  each 

Extreme  departs  from  perfect  sanity. 

I  could  relate  what  table  this  demands 
Or  that  complexion  ;  what  the  various  powers 
Of  various  foods,  but  fifty  years  would  roll, 
And  fifty  more  before  the  tale  were  done. 
Besides  there  often  lurks  some  nameless,  strange. 
Peculiar  thing ;   nor  on  the  skin  displayed. 
Felt  in  the  pulse,  nor  in  the  habit  seen ; 
Which  finds  a  poison  in  the  food  that  most 
The  temperature  effects.     There  are,  whose  blood 
Impetuous  rages  through  the  turgid  veins. 
Who  better  bear  the  fiery  fruits  of  Ind 
Than  the  moist  melon,  or  pale  cucumber. 
Of  chilly  nature  others  fly  the  board 
Supplied  with  slaughter,  and  the  vernal  powers. 
For  cooler,  kinder  sustenance,  implore. 
Some  e  'en  the  generous  nutriment  detest 


170  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Which,  in  the  shell,  the  sleeping  embryo  rears. 
Some,  more  unhappy  still,  repent  the  gifts 
Of  Pales  ;  soft,  delicious,  and  benign  : 
The  balmy  quintessence  of  every  flower, 
And  every  grateful  herb  that  decks  the  spring : 
The  fostering  dew  of  tender  sprouting  life  ; 
The  best  refection  of  declining  age  ; 
The  kind  restorative  of  those  who  lie 
Half  dead  and  panting,  from  the  doubtful  strife 
Of  nature  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  death. 
Try  all  the  bounties  of  this  fertile  globe. 
There  is  not  such  a  salutary  food 
As  suits  with  every  stomach.     But  (except. 
Amid  the  mingled  mass  of  fish  and  fowl, 
And  boiled  and  baked,  you  hesitate  by  which 
You  sunk  oppressed,  or  whether  not  by  all) 
Taught  by  experience  soon  you  may  discern 
What  pleases,  what  offends.     Avoid  the  cates 
That  lull  the  sickened  appetite  too  long ; 
Or  heave  with  feverish  flushings  all  the  face. 
Burn  in  the  palms,  and  parch  the  roughening  tongue  ; 
Or  much  diminish  or  too  much  increase 
The  expense  which  Nature's  wise  economy, 
Without  or  waste  or  avarice,  maintains. 
Such  cates  adjured,  let  prowling  hunger  loose. 
And  bid  the  curious  palate  roam  at  will ; 
They  scarce  can  err  amid  the  various  stores 
That  burst  the  teeming  entrails  of  the  world. 
Led  by  sagacious  taste,  the  ruthless  king 
Of  beasts  on  blood  and  slaughter  only  lives  ; 
The  tiger,  formed  alike  to  cruel  meals. 
Would  at  the  manger  starve  :  of  milder  seeds 
The  generous  horse  to  herbage  and  to  grain 
Confines  his  wish  ;  though  fabling  Greece  resound 
The  Thracian  steeds,  with  human  carnage  wild. 
Prompted  by  instinct's  never  erring  power, 
Each  creature  knows  its  proper  aliment ; 
But  man,  the  inhabitant  of  every  clime. 
With  all  the  commoners  of  nature  feeds. 
Directed,  bounded  by  this  power  within, 


tHE  ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH  171 

Their  cravings  are  weH  aimed  :  voluptuous  man 

Is  by  superior  facuhies  misled  ; 

Misled  from  pleasure  e  'en  in  quest  of  joy. 

Sated  with  nature's  boons,  what  thousands  seek, 

With  dishes  tortured  from  their  native  taste  ;  . 

And  mad  variety,  to  spur  beyond 

Its  wiser  will  the  jaded  appetite  1 

Is  this  for  pleasure  ?     Learn  a  juster  taste  ; 

And  know  that  temperance  is  true  luxury. 

Or  is  it  pride  ?     Pursue  some  nobler  aim  ; 

Dismiss  your  parasites,  who  praise  for  hire  ; 

And  earn  the  fair  esteem  of  honest  men, 

Whose  praise  is  fame.     Formed  of  such  clay  as  yours, 

The  sick,  the  needy,  shiver  at  your  gates  ; 

E'en  modest  want  may  bless  your  hand  unseen, 

Though  hushed  in  patient  wretchedness  at  home. 

Is  there  no  virgin,  graced  with  every  charm 

But  that  which  binds  the  mercenary  vow  ? 

No  youth  of  genius,  whose  neglected  bloom 

Unfostered  sickens  in  the  barren  shade  ? 

No  worthy  man,  by  fortune's  random  blows, 

Or  by  a  heart  too  generous  and  humane, 

Constrained  to  leave  his  happy  natal  seat. 

And  sigh  for  wants  more  bitter  than  his  own  ? 

There  are,  while  human  miseries  abound, 

A  thousand  ways  to  waste  superfluous  wealth 

Without  one  fool  or  flatterer  at  your  board, 

Without  one  hour  of  sickness  or  disgust. 

But  other  ills  the  ambiguous  feast  pursue. 
Besides  provoking  the  lascivious  taste. 
Such  various  foods,  though  harmless  each  alone. 
Each  other  violate  ;  and  oft  we  see 
What  strife  is  brewed,  and  what  pernicious  bane. 
From  combinations  of  innoxious  things. 
The  unbounded  taste  I  mean  not  to  confine 
To  hermit's  diet  needlessly  severe. 
But  would  you  long  the  sweets  of  health  enjoy. 
Or  husband  pleasure  ;  at  one  impious  meal 
Exhaust  not  half  the  bounties  of  the  year. 
Of  every  realm.     It  matters  not  meanwhile 


it2  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

How  much  tomorrow  differ  from  today  ; 
So  far  indulge :  'tis  fit,  besides,  that  man, 
To  change  obnoxious,  be  to  change  inured. 
But  stay  the  curious  appetite,  ana  taste 
With  caution  fruits  you  never  tried  before. 
For  want  of  use  the  kindest  aliment 
Sometimes  offends ;  while  custom  tamed  the  rage 
Of  poison  to  mild  amity  with  life. 

So  Heaven  has  formed  us  to  the  genera!  taste 
Of  all  its  gifts  ;  so  custom  has  improved 
This  bent  of  nature ;  that  few  simple  foods, 
Of  all  that  earth  or  air  or  ocean  yield, 
But  by  excess  offend.     Beyond  the  sense 
Of  light  refection,  at  the  genial  board 
Indulge  not  often  ;  nor  protract  the  feast 
To  dull  satiety ;  till  soft  and  slow 
A  drowsy  death  creeps  on,  the  expansive  souJ 
Oppressed,  and  smothered  the  celestial  fire. 
The  stomach,  urged  beyond  its  active  tone, 
Hardly  to  nutrimental  chyle  subdues 
The  softest  food :  unfinished  and  depraved, 
The  chyle,  in  all  its  future  wanderings,  owns 
Its  turbid  fountain;  not  by  purer  streams 
So  to  be  cleared,  but  foulness  will  remain. 
To  sparkling  wine  what  ferment  can  exalt 
The  unripened  grape  ?     Or  what  mechanic  skill 
From  the  crude  ore  can  spin  the  ductile  gold  ? 

Gross  riot  treasures  up  a  wealthy  fund 
Of  plagues :  but  more  immedicable  ills 
Attend  the  lean  extreme.     For  physic  knows 
How  to  disburden  the  too  tumid  veins, 
E  'en  how  to  ripen  the  half-labored  blood  ; 
But  to  unlock  the  elemental  tubes, 
Collapsed  and  shrunk  with  long  inanity. 
And  with  balsamic  nutriment  repair 
The  dried  and  worn-out  habit,  were  to  bid 
Old  age  grow  green,  and  wear  a  second  spring; 
Or  the  tall  ash,  long  ravished  from  the  soil, 
Through  withered  veins  imbibe  the  vernal  dew. 
When  hunger  calls,  obey ;  nor  often  wait 


THE  ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH  173 

Till  hunger  sharpen  to  corrosive  pain : 
For  the  keen  appetite  will  feast  beyond 
What  nature  well  can  bear ;  and  one  extreme 
Ne  'er  without  danger  meets  its  own  reverse. 
Too  greedily  the  exhausted  veins  absorb 
The  recent  chyle,  and  load  enfeebled  powers 
Oft  to  the  extinction  of  the  vital  flame. 
To  the  pale  cities,  by  the  firm-set  siege 
And  fam.ine  humbled,  may  this  verse  be  borne 
And  hear,  ye  hardiest  sons  that  Albion  breeds, 
Long  tossed  and  famished  on  the  wintry  main : 
The  war  shook  off,  or  hospitable  shore 
Attained,  with  temperance  bear  the  shock  of  joy; 
Nor  crown  with  festive  rites  the  auspicious  day ; 
Such  feast  might  prove  more  fatal  than  the  waves, 
Than  war  or  famine.     While  the  vital  fire 
Burns  feebly,  heap  not  the  green  fuel  on ; 
But  prudently  foment  the  wandering  spark 
With  what  the  soonest  feeds  its  kindred  touch : 
Be  frugal  e  'en  of  that :  a  little  give 
At  first ;  that  kindled,  add  a  little  more ; 
Till,  by  deliberate  nourishing,  the  flame. 
Revived,  with  all  its  wonted  vigor  glows. 

But  though  the  two  (the  full  and  the  jejune) 
Extremes  have  each  their  vice ;  it  much  avails 
Ever  with  gentle  tide  to  ebb  and  flow 
From  this  to  that :  so  nature  learns  to  bear 
Whatever  chance  or  headlong  appetite 
May  bring.     Besides  a  meager  day  subdues 
The  cruder  clods  by  sloth  or  luxury 
Collected,  and  unloads  the  wheels  of  life. 
Sometimes  a  coy  aversion  to  the  feast 
Comes  on,  while  yet  no  blacker  omen  lours  : 
Then  is  a  time  to  shun  the  tempting  board. 
Were  it  your  natal  or  your  nuptial  day. 
Perhaps  a  fast  so  seasonable  starves 
The  latent  seeds  of  woe,  which  rooted  once 
Might  cost  you  labor.     But  the  day  returned 
Of  festal  luxury,  the  wise  indulge 
Most  in  the  tender  vegetable  breed : 


174  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Then  chiefly  when  the  summer  beams  inflame 

The  brazen  heavens  ;  or  angry  Sirius  sheds 

A  feverish  taint  through  the  still  gulf  of  air. 

The  moist  cold  viands  then,  and  flowing  cup 

From  the  fresh  dairy-virgin's  liberal  hand, 

Will   save   your  head  from  harm,  though  round  the 

world 
The  dreaded  Causos  roll  his  wasteful  fires. 
Pale  humid  Winter  loves  the  generous  board. 
The  meal  more  copious,  and  a  warmer  fare  ; 
And  longs  with  old  wood  and  old  wine  to  cheer 
His  quaking  heart.     The  seasons  which  divide 
The  empire  of  heat  and  cold ;  by  neither  claimed. 
Influenced  by  both  ;  a  middle  regimen 
Impose.     Through  autumn's  languishing  domain 
Descending,  nature  by  degrees  invites 
To  glowing  luxury.     But  from  the  depth 
Of  winter  when  the  invigorated  year 
Emerges  ;  when  Favonius,  flushed  with  love, 
Toyful  and  young,  in  every  breeze  descends 
More  warm  and  wanton  on  his  kindling  bride  ; 
Then,  shepherds,  then  begin  to  spare  your  flocks  ;  - 
And  learn,  with  wise  humanity,  to  check 
The  lust  of  blood.     Now  pregnant  earth  commits 
A  various  offspring  to  the  indulgent  sky: 
Now  bounteous  Nature  feeds  with  lavish  hand 
The  prone  creation :  yields  what  once  sufficed 
Their  dainty  sovereign,  when  the  world  was  young  ; 
Ere  yet  the  barbarous  thirst  of  blood  had  seized 
The  human  breast.— Each  rolling  month  matures 
The  food  that  suits  it  most ;  so  does  each  clime. 

Far  in  the  horrid  realms  of  Winter,  where 
The  established  ocean  heaps  a  monstrous  waste 
Of  shining  rocks  and  mountains  to  the  pole, 
There  lives  a  hardy  race,  whose  plainest  wants 
Relentless  Earth,  their  cruel  stepmother. 
Regards  not.     On  the  waste  of  iron  fields 
Untamed,  intractable,  no  harvests  wave; 
Pomona  hates  them,  and  the  clownish  god 
Who  tends  the  garden.     In  this  frozen  world 


THE  ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH      175 

Such  cooling  gifts  were  vain :  a  fitter  meal 

Is  earned  with  ease ;  for  here  the  fruitful  spawn 

Of  Ocean  swarms,  and  heaps  their  genial  board 

With  generous  fare  and  luxury  profuse. 

These  are  their  bread,  the  only  bread  they  know; 

These,  and  their  willing  slave,  the  deer,  that  crops 

The  shrubby  herbage  on  their  meager  hills. 

Girt  by  the  burning  Zone,  not  thus  the  South 

Her  swarthy  sons  in  either  Ind  maintains ; 

Or  thirsty  Libya  ;  from  whose  fervid  loins 

The  lion  bursts,  and  every  fiend  that  roams 

The  affrighted  wilderness.     The  mountain  herd, 

Adust  and  dry,  no  sweet  repast  affords : 

Nor  does  the  tepid  main  such  kinds  produce, 

So  perfect,  so  delicious  as  the  shoals 

Of  icy  Zembla.     Rashly  where  the  blood 

Brews  feverish  frays  ;  where  scarce  the  tubes  sustafn 

Its  tumid  fervor  and  tempestuous  course  ; 

Kind  Nature  tempts  not  to  such  gifts  as  these. 

But  here  in  livid  ripeness  melts  the  grape ; 

Here,  finished  by  invigorating  suns. 

Through  the  green  shade  the  golden  orange  glows ; 

Spontaneous  here  the  turgid  melon  yields 

A  generous  pulp  ;  the  cocoa  swells  on  high 

With  milky  riches;  and  in  horrid  mail 

The  crisp  ananas  wraps  its  poignant  sweets, 

Earth's  vaunted  progeny  :  in  ruder  air 

Too  coy  to  flourish,  e  'en  too  proud  to  live  ; 

Or  hardly  raised  by  artificial  fire 

To  vapid  life.     Here  with  a  mother's  smile 

Glad  Amalthea  pours  her  copious  horn. 

Here  buxom  Ceres  reigns  :  the  autumnal  sea 

In  boundless  billows  fluctuates  o  *er  their  plains. 

What  suits  the  climate  best,  what  suits  the  men, 

Nature  profuses  most,  and  most  the  taste 

Demands.     The  fountain,  edged  with  racy  wine 

Or  acid  fruit,  bedews  their  thirsty  souls. 

The  breeze,  eternal  breathing  round  their  limbs, 

Supports  in  else  intolerable  air : 

While  the  cool  palm,  the  plantain,  and  the  grove 


176  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

That  waves  on  gloomy  Lebanon,  assuage 
The  torrid  hell  that  beams  upon  their  heads. 

Now  come,  ye  Naiads,  to  the  fountains  lead  ; 
Now  let  me  wander  through  your  gelid  reign. 
I  burn  to  view  the  enthusiastic  wilds 
By  mortal  else  untrod.     1  hear  the  din 
Of  waters  thundering  o  'er  the  ruined  cliffs. 
With  holy  reverence  1  approach  the  rocks 
Whence  glide  the  streams  renowned  in  ancient  song. 
Here  from  the  desert  down  the  rumbling  steep 
First  springs  the  Nile,  here  bursts  the  sounding  Po 
In  angry  waves ;  Euphrates  hence  devolves 
A  mighty  flood  to  water  half  the  east ; 
And  there,  in  gothic  solitude  reclined, 
The  cheerless  Tanais  pours  his  hoary  urn. 
What  solemn  twilight  1    What  stupendous  shades 
Inwrap  these  infant  floods  !     Through  every  nerve 
A  sacred  horror  thrills,  a  pleasing  fear 
Glides  0  'er  my  frame.     The  forest  deepens  round ; 
And  more  gigantic  still,  the  impending  trees 
Stretch  their  extravagant  arms  athwart  the  gloom. 
Are  these  the  confines  of  some  fairy  world  ? 
A  land  of  genii  ?     Say,  beyond  these  wilds 
What  unknown  nations  ?     If  indeed  beyond 
Aught  habitable  lies.     And  whither  leads. 
To  what  strange  regions,  or  of  bliss  or  pain, 
That  subterraneous  way?     Propitious  maids, 
Conduct  me,  while  with  fearful  steps  I  tread 
This  trembling  ground.     The  task  remains  to  sing 
Your  gifts  (so  Pasan,  so  the  powers  of  health 
Command) ,  to  praise  your  crystal  element : 
The  chief  ingredient  in  Heaven's  various  works ; 
Whose  flexile  genius  sparkles  in  the  gem. 
Grows  firm  in  oak,  and  fugitive  in  wine ; 
The  vehicle,  the  source,  of  nutriment 
And  life,  to  all  that  vegetate  or  live. 

0  comfortable  streams !  with  eager  lips 
And  trembling  hand  the  languid  thirsty  quaff 
New  life  In  you;  fresh  vigor  fills  their  veins. 
No  warmer  cups  the  rural  ages  knew ; 


THE  ART  OP  PRESERVING  HEALTH  177 

None  warmer  sought  the  sires  of  humankind. 
Happy  in  temperate  peace  !  their  equal  days 
Felt  not  the  alternate  fits  of  feverish  mirth 
And  sick  dejection.     Still  serene  and  pleased 
They  knew  no  pains  but  what  the  tender  soul 
With  pleasure  yields  to,  and  would  ne  'er  forget. 
Blessed  with  divine  immunity  from  ails, 
Long  centuries  they  lived ;  their  only  fate 
Was  ripe  old  age,  and  rather  sleep  than  death. 
Oh!  could  those  worthies,  from  the  world  of  gods, 
Return  to  visit  their  degenerate  sons, 
How  would  they  scorn  the  joys  of  modern  time. 
With  all  our  art  and  toil,  improved  to  pain ! 
Too  happy  they !  but  wealth  brought  luxury. 
And  luxury  on  sloth  begot  disease. 

Learn  temperance,  friends;  and  hear  without   dis- 
dain 
The  choice  of  water.     Thus  the  Coan  sage 
Opined,  and  thus  the  learned  of  every  school. 
What  least  of  foreign  principles  partakes 
Is  best :  the  lightest  then ;  what  bears  the  touch 
Of  fire  the  least,  and  soonest  mounts  in  air ; 
The  most  insipid;  the  most  void  of  smell. 
Such  the  rude  mountain  from  his  horrid  sides 
Pours  down ;  such  waters  in  the  sandy  vale 
For  ever  boil,  alike  of  winter  frosts 
And  summer's  heat  secure.     The  crystal  stream, 
Through  rocks  resounding,  or  for  many  a  mile 
O  'er   the   chafed  pebbles  hurled,  yields  wholesome, 

pure. 
And  mellow  draughts ;  except  when  winter  thaws, 
And  half  the  mountains  melt  into  the  tide. 
Though  thirst  were  e  'er  so  resolute,  avoid 
The  sordid  lake,  and  all  such  drowsy  floods 
As  fill  from  Lethe  Belgia's  slow  canals 
(With  rest  corrupt,  with  vegetation  green  ; 
Squalid  with  generation,  and  the  birth 
Of  little  monsters);  till  the  power  of  fire 
Has  from  profane  embraces  disengaged 
The  violated  lymph.     The  virgin  stream, 


378  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

In  boiling,  wastes  its  finer  soul  in  air. 

Nothing  like  simple  element  dilutes 
The  food,  or  gives  the  chyle  so  soon  to  flow : 
But  where  the  stomach,  indolent  and  cold, 
Toys  with  its  duty,  animate  with  wine 
The  insipid  stream :  though  golden  Ceres  yields 
A  more  voluptuous,  a  more  sprightly  draught ; 
Perhaps  more  active.    Wine  unmixed,  and  all 
The  gluey  floods  that  from  the  vexed  abyss 
Of  fermentation  spring ;  with  spirit  fraught, 
And  furous  with  intoxicating  fire, 
Retard  concoction,  and  preserve  unthawed 
The  embodied  mass.     You  see  what  countless  years, 
Embalmed  in  fiery  quintessence  of  wine, 
The  puny  wonders  of  the  reptile  world. 
The  tender  rudiments  of  life,  the  slim 
Unravelings  of  minute  anatomy, 
Maintain  their  texture,  and  unchanged  remain. 

We  curse  not  wine  :  the  vile  excess  we  blame  ; 
More  fruitful  than  the  accumulated  board 
Of  pain  and  misery.     For  the  subtle  draught 
Faster  and  surer  swells  the  vital  tide  ; 
And  with  more  active  poison,  than  the  floods 
Of  grosser  crudity  convey,  pervades 
The  far  remote  meanders  of  our  frame. 
Ah!  sly  deceiver!  branded  o  'er  and  o  'er, 
Yet  still  believed  !  exulting  o  'er  the  wreck 
Of  sober  vows  ! — But  the  Parnassian  maids 
Another  time,  perhaps,  shall  sing  the  joys. 
The  fatal  charms,  the  many  woes  of  wine  ; 
Perhaps  its  various  tribes,  and  various  powers. 

Meantime,  I  would  not  always  dread  the  bowi. 
Nor  every  trespass  shun.     The  feverish  strife , 
Roused  by  the  rare  debauch,  subdues,  expels 
The  loitering  crudities  that  burden  life  ; 
And,  like  a  torrent  full  and  rapid,  clears 
The  obstructed  tubes.     Besides,  this  restless  world 
Is  full  of  chances,  which,  by  habit's  power, 
To  learn  to  bear  is  easier  than  to  shun. 
Ah  1  when  ambition,  meager  love  of  gold, 


THE  ART  OP  PRESERVING  HEALTH      179 

Or  sacred  country  calls,  with  mellowing  wine 

To  moisten  well  the  thirsty  suffrages  ; 

Say  how,  unseasoned  to  the  midnight  frays 

Of  Comus  and  his  rout,  wilt  thou  contend 

With  Centaurs  long  to  hardy  deeds  inured  ? 

Then  learn  to  revel ;  but  by  slow  degrees : 

By  slow  degrees  the  liberal  arts  are  won  ; 

And  Hercules  grew  strong.     But  when  you  smooth 

The  brows  of  care,  indulge  your  festive  vein 

In  cups  by  well-informed  experience  found 

The  least  your  bane  :  and  only  with  your  friends, 

There  are  sweet  follies  ;  frailties  to  be  seen 

By  friends  alone,  and  men  of  generous  minds. 

Oh  !  seldom  may  the  fated  hour  return 
Of  drinking  deep  !  I  would  not  daily  taste, 
Except  when  life  declines,  e  'en  sober  cups. 
Weak  withering  age  no  rigid  law  forbids, 
With  frugal  nectar,  smooth  and  slow  with  balm. 
The  sapless  habit  daily  to  bedew, 
And  give  the  hesitating  wheels  of  life 
Gliblier  to  play.     But  youth  has  better  joys  : 
And  is  it  wise,  when  youth  with  pleasure  flows, 
To  squander  the  reliefs  of  age  and  pain  ? 

What  dexterous  thousands  just  within  the  goal 
Of  wild  debauch  direct  their  nightly  course  ! 
Perhaps  no  sickly  qualms  bedim  their  days, 
No  morning  admonitions  shock  the  head. 
But,  ah  !  what  woes  remain!    life  rolls  apace. 
And  that  incurable  disease,  old  age, 
In  youthful  bodies  more  severely  felt. 
More  sternly  active,  shakes  their  blasted  prime  : 
Except  kind  Nature  by  some  hasty  blow 
Prevent  the  lingering  fates.     For  know,  whate  'er 
Beyond  its  natural  fervor  hurries  on 
The  sanguine  tide  ;  whether  the  frequent  bowl. 
High  seasoned  fare,  or  exercise  to  toil 
Protracted  ;  spurs  to  its  last  stage  tired  life, 
And  sows  the  temples  with  untimely  snow. 
When  life  is  new,  the  ductile  fibres  feel 
The  heart's  increasing  force  ;  and,  day  by  day. 


180  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

The  growth  advances  :  till  the  larger  tubes. 

Acquiring  (from  their  elemental  veins, 

Condensed  to  solid  chords)  a  firmer  tone, 

Sustain,  and  just  sustain  the  impetuous  blood. 

Here  stops  the  growth.    With  overbearing  pulse 

And  pressure,  still  the  great  destroy  the  small  ; 

Still  with  the  ruins  of  the  small  grow  strong. 

Life  glows  meantime,  amid  the  grinding  force 

Of  viscous  fluids  and  elastic  tubes  ; 

Its  various  functions  vigorously  are  plied 

By  strong  machinery  ;  and  in  solid  health 

The  man  confirmed  long  triumphs  o  'er  disease. 

But  the  full  ocean  ebbs  :  there  is  a  point, 

By  nature  fixed,  whence  life  must  downward  tend. 

For  still  the  beating  tide  consolidates 

The  stubborn  vessels,  more  reluctant  still 

To  the  weak  throbs  of  the  ill  supported  heart. 

This  languishing,  these  strengthening  by  degrees 

To  hard,  unyielding,  unelastic  bone, 

Through  tedious  channels  the  congealing  flood 

Crawls  lazily,  and  hardly  wanders  on  ; 

It  loiters  still:  and  now  it  stirs  no  more.  ^ 

This  is  the  period  few  attain ;  the  death 

Of  nature ;  thus  (so  Heaven  ordained  it)  life 

Destroys  Itself ;  and  could  these  laws  have  changed, 

Nestor  might  now  the  fates  of  Troy  relate  ; 

And  Homer  live  immortal  as  his  song. 

What  does  not  fade  ?     The   tower  that  long  had 
stood 
The  crush  of  thunder  and  the  warring  winds, 
Shook  by  the  slow  but  sure  destroyer  Time, 
Now  hangs  in  doubtful  ruins  o  'er  its  base. 
The  flinty  pyramids,  and  walls  of  brass, 
Descend  :  the  Babylonian  spires  are  sunk  ; 
Achaia,  Rome,  and  Egypt  moulder  down. 
Time  shakes  the  stable  tyranny  of  thrones, 
And  tottering  empires  rush  by  their  own  weight. 
This  huge  rotundity  we  tread  grows  old  ; 
And  all  those  worlds  that  roll  around  the  sun. 
The  sun  himself,  shall  die ;  and  ancient  Night 


PEACE  BORN  OF  PAIN  181 

Again  involve  the  desolate  abyss  : 

Till  the  great  Father  through  the  lifeless  gloom 

Extend  his  arm  to  light  another  world, 

And  bid  nev/  planets  roll  by  other  laws. 

For  through  the  regions  of  unbounded  space, 

Where  unconfined  Omnipotence  has  room, 

Being,  in  various  systems,  fluctuates  still 

Between  creation  and  abhorrea  aecay  : 

It  ever  did;  perhaps,  and  ever  will. 

New  worlds  are  still  emerging  from  the  deep  ; 

The  old  descending,  in  their  turns  to  rise. 

— Dr.  John  Armstrong. 


Peace  Born  of  Pain 

^  '  N  probing  Life,  wise  Doctors  look 
1  )  On  it,  as  men  must  look  on  Life 
n  Who,  in  its  very  breath 

Read  Death ; 
Life  is  but  gashed  to  find  that  strife 
Provokes  too  savage  throes  ; 
Pain's  woes 
May  vien 
To  stain 
The  flesh, 
As  fresh 
As  winter's  moon-white,  hurried  snows. 

In  probing  Life,  wise  Doctors  gaze 
On  it,  as  men  must  gaze  on  Life 
Who,  in  its  very  breath 
Read  Death ; 
They  probe  to  heal,  but  in  amaze 
See  how  it  is  God  alters  strife 


182  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


To  peace  which,  roseate,  glows; 

This  flows 

But  sweet 

And,  fleet, 

Must  kiss 

New  bliss 
Into  Life,  the  bliss  of  soul-repose. 

— Caroline  Edwards  Prentiss. 


Ode  to  Dyspepsia 


"  'CCURSED  Hag!     Hell-conceived,  fury-born, 
Twin  sister  of  the  fiend  Despair,  avaunt ! 
Hence  with  thy  harpy  talons,  which  have  torn 
- .  Too  long  my  vitals  1     Down  to  thy  damned  haunt 
Of  caverned  horror  and  heart-eating  woe  ! 

Leave  me,  and  plunge  below 
To  that  black  pit,  with  all  thy  ghoulish  crew 

Of  loathsome-visaged  shapes ; 
Nightmares  that  come  with  pallid  features  blue 

To  rack  me  with  soul-shattering  escapes 
From  grisly  phantoms.     Vampires,  flapping  wings 

Obscene  about  my  bed  ; 
Dread,  formless,  and  abominable  Things 

That  rise  from  gory  pools,  till  o  'er  my  head 
The  shuddering  night  is  full  of  firey  eyes 

And  threatening  fingers  pointing  scorn !     Ye  dead. 
Haunt  me  not  thus  I     Come  not  in  fearful  guise 

Gibbering  from  bloody  shrouds,  or,  long-engraved, 
Rising  to  fear  me  with  the  abhorred  sight— 

What  coffin-planks  have  saved 
From  the  worm's  banquet.     'Twill  not  bear  the  light. 

That  mass  of  swollen  corruption — green  decay 
Makes  hideous  every  member  I    Get  thee  hence, 

Foul  incubus  1    Take  thy  loathed  weight  away 


THE  CONSULTATION  183 

From  off  my  breast !     O  sickening  horror — !     Whence 
Comes  any  Iielp?     I  wake,  andit  is  day! 

Thank  heaven  that  night  is  done !     But  with  the  morn 
Come  fiendish  voices  whispering  suicide — 

Madness — damnation ;  with  malignant  scorn 
My  anguish  they  deride. 


11. 


Joy,  for  my  chains  are  breaking!     Get  thee  gone. 

Fell  sorceress  !     Hellward  roll  thy  scorpion  train. 
Too  long  its  hateful  coils  have  round  me  lain  ; 

But  now  thy  reign  is  done. 
Day  breaks  in  gladness,  and  night  comes  to  steep 

Mine  eyelids  in  her  drowsiest  honey-dew. 
And  folded  by  the  downy  wings  of  sleep, 

Pillowed  secure  upon  her  mother's-breast. 
In  happy  dreams  and  healing  slumber  deep 

I  sink  to  balmy  rest. 

— John  Todhunter. 


The   Consultation 

THREE  doctors,  met  in  consultation. 
Proceed  with  great  deliberation  ; 
The  case  was  desperate,  all  agreed. 
But  what  of  that  ?  they  must  be  fee  'd. 

They  write  then  (as  'twas  fit  they  should) 
But  for  their  own,  not  patients'  good. 
Consulting  wisely  (don't  mistake,  sir,) 
Not  what  to  give,  but  what  to  take,  sir. 

— Richard  Graves. 


184  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Too  Progressive  for  Him 

AM  somethin'  of  a  vet  'ran,  just  a  turnin'  eighty  year — 
•}|)  A  man  that 's  hale  an'  hearty  an'  a  stranger  tew  all  fear ; 

But  I  've  heard  some  news  this  mornin'  that  has  made  my 
old  head  spin, 
An'  I  'm  goin'  to  easy  my  conshuns  if  1  never  speak  ag'in. 

I  've  lived  my  four-score  years  of  life,  an'  never  till  tew-day 

Wuz  I  taken  fer  a  jackass  or  an  ign  'rant  kind  o'  jay. 

Tew  be  stuffed  with  such  durned  nonsense  'bout  them  crawHn* 

bugs  an'  worms 
That 's  a-killin'  human  bein  's  with  their  "  mikroskopic  germs." 

They  say  there  's  "  mlkrobes  "  all  about  a-lookin'  fer  their  prey; 
There 's  nothin'  pure  tew  eat  nor  drink,  an'  no  safe  place  tew 

stay; 
There  's  "  misamy  "  in  the  dewfall  an'  "  malary  "  in  the  sun  ; 
'Tain't  safe  to  be  outdoors  at  noon  or  when  the  day  is  done. 

There's  "bactery"  in  the  water  an'  "trikeeny"  in  the  meat. 
A  "  meeby  "  In  the  atmosphere,  an'  "  calory  "  in  the  heat ; 
There 's  "  corpussels  "  an'    "pigments"    in  a  human  beln's 

blood, 
An'  every  other  kind  o'  thing  existin'  sence  the  flood. 

Terbacker  's  full  o'  "  nickerteen,"  whatever  that  may  be  ; 

An'  your  mouth  '11  all  get  puckered  with  the  "  tannin'  "  in  the 

tea  ; 
The  butter  's  "  olymargareen  " — it  never  saw  a  cow  ; 
An'  things  is  gettin'  wus  an'  wus  from  what  they  be  just  now. 

Them  bugs  is  all  about  us,  just  a-waitin'  fer  a  chance 
Tew  navigate  our  vitals  an'  tew  'naw  us  off  like  plants. 


THE  DOCTOR  185 

There  's  men  that  spends  a  lifetime  huntin'  worms,  just  like  a 

goose, 
An'  takin'  Latin  names  to  'em  an'  lettin'  ov  'em  loose. 

Now,  I  don't  believe  sech  nonsense,  an'  I  'm  not  a-goin'  tew  try 
If  things  has  come  tew  such  a  pass,  1  'm  satisfied  tew  die  ; 
I  '11  go  hang  me  in  the  sullar,  fer  1  won't  be  such  a  fool 
As  to  wait  until  I  'm  pizened  by  a  "  annymallycool." 

— LuRANA  W.  Sheldon. 


The  Doctor 


A    PICTURE    OF    THE    OLDEN    TIME. 

"*HE  old-time  Doctor  rises  into  view. 


J 

j -^  A  "well-read"  man  he  was;  and   much   he 

>  knew 

.  ^    For  he  was  "  college  bred ;  "  and  in  the  eyes 
Of  simple  folks,  no  man  could  be  more  wise. 
He  had  a  sheep-skin  in  his  office  hung, 
Which,  like  a  banner  to  the  breezes  flung, 
Proclaimed  to  all  the  world  his  wondrous  lore. 
Endorsed  by  learned  men  full  half  a  score. 
His  modest  sign  that  hung  above  the  gate. 
Failed  not  his  many  virtues  to  relate : 
"  Physician,  Surgeon,  Accoucheur,"  In  one  ; 
And  yet  with  these  the  list  was  but  begun. 
He  knew  and  numbered  all  the  human  bones  ; 
And  well  he  knew  all  geologic  stones; 
He  knew  how  blood  coursed  swiftly  through  the  veins, 
He  knew  the  cause  of  summer  drought  and  rairs  ; 
He  cured  his  patients  of  each  threatening  ill. 
And  matched  the  parson  in  polemic  skill ; 
In  politics,  philosophy  and  art. 
He  never  failed  to  take  a  ready  part. 
The  master  of  the  village  school,  his  power 
m  argument  acknowledged;  and  so,  hour 


186  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

By  hour,  they  sat  In  hot  dispute ;  the  crowd, 

Meanwhile,  each  disputant  applauded  loud. 

But  these  were  byplays  in  the  doctor's  life, — 

With  other  conflicts  he  was  daily  rife ; 

For  fell  disease  and  death  rode  on  the  air. 

And  found  their  ready  victims  everjrj/here. 

Against  these  foes,  there  was  no  known  defence 

Except  the  Doctor's  wise  omnipotence. 

And  so,  whate  'er  his  patients  might  befall, 

He  ready  stood  to  answer  every  call. 

On  ambling  horse  he  rode  the  country  o'er, 

And  carried  hope  and  help  from  door  to  door 

Where  'er  he  went,  to  gentle  babe  or  sire, — - 

Pain  fled  away,  and  fever  cooled  its  fire. 

Of  modern  healing  art  he  little  knew, 

His  work  was  plain,  and  what  he  had  to  do 

His  trusting  patients  quietly  endured. 

Though  oft  uncertain  if  he  killed  or  cured. 

His  lancet  was  his  faithful  right-hand  man; 

For,  at  its  touch,  the  crimson  current  ran. 

Till  blood,  like  water,  flowed  on  every  side, 

And  every  cabin  was  in  crimson  dyed. 

His  massive  saddle-bags  with  drugs  o  'er  ran  : 

But  calomel  and  jalap  led  the  van. 

His  dose  the  palate  did  not  always  please  ; 

His  pills  were  large,  and  bitter  were  his  teas ; 

His  drastic  mixtures  were  no  idle  play. 

And  his  emetics  brooked  no  long  delay. 

In  short,  his  victims,  like  some  luckless  craft, 

Were  driven  amain  and  swept  afore  and  aft. 

And  if  at  last  they  died,  there  was  no  one 

Dared  say,  "They  died  from  having  nothing  done." 

He  promptly,  bravely,  took  his  part  and  place  ; 

And  every  station  did  his  genius  grace. 

Heroic  man  !     He  did  his  duty  well ; 

He  fought  for  others  till  at  last  he  fell. 

Above  his  grave  we  need  no  column  raise, 

He  lives  Immortal  in  our  love  and  praise! 

— Dr.  T.  p.  Wilson. 


•'DOC"  187 


"  Doc  " 

TO    MY    OLD    PARD,    DOCTOR    H.     K. 

OC  wuz  the  biggest  liar  'at  ever  hit  the  town, 
I  An'  when  it  cum  to  citin'  facks  you   couldn't  pin   him 

down ; 
But  when  we  lamed  'at  he  hed  strayed  frum  sumwhars 
in  the  east, 
I  tol'  the  boys  it  wuzzen't  rite  to  blame  him  in  the  least ; 
Fur  people  thar  is  mighty  apt,  ez  I  hev  often  stated, 
To  stretch  the  blanket  to  us  fokes  becaws  they  're  eddicated  ; 
An'  I  diskivered  signs  in  Doc  1  never  knowed  to  fail. 
An'  Doc  kurroberated  me  an'  sed  'at  he  hed  went  to  Yale. 
He  sed  he  studded  medycine  an'  I  will  also  state 
Ef  lyin'  wuz  a  study  thar,  Doc  wuz  a  gradooate. 
Doc  hung  his  shingle  up  one  day  nex'  to  McGrew's  saloon. 
An'  sed  he  hoped  to  hell  thar  'd  be  sum  sickness  purty  soon. 
So  when  the  gang  diskivered  'at  he  wuz  lately  cum. 
We  all  konkluded  to  drap  down  an'  make  him  feel  to  hum; 
An'  size  the  feller  up  a  bit,  an'  ef  he  wuz  no  good. 
To  leave  a  hint  fur  him  to  skin  to  sum  fur  naberhood. 
We  foun'  him  straddle  uv  a  cheer  awrasslin'  'ith  a  book. 
An'  'parently  so  lost  in  thought  he  would  n't  turn  an'  look. 
Then  Brazos  Butch  went  up  to  him  an'  slapped   him  on  the 

back, 
To  show  thet  fur  ez  welcum  went  thar  wuzzen't  eny  lack. 
An'  all  the  boys  'at  cum  'ith  us  wuz  friendly  sort  uv  stock. 
Fur  they  jes'   waltzed  rite  up   to  him  an'  gurgled,  "  Howdy, 

Doc!" 
Then  Butch  went  on  to  make  a  talk  how  we  hed  saw  his  sign. 
The  fust  'un  like  it  thar  'd  ben  hung  sence  August  '69, 
When  sum  young  sawbones  made  a  speech  'at  v/uzzen't  zackly 

rite, 
An'  to  condense  the   tale,  Butch  sed.  wuz  planted  thet  same 

night. 


188  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

An'  sence  thet  time  thar  'd  ben  no  one  to  rekommend  a  pill, 
Er  rite  a  order  on  a  slip  fur  Quinine  Sam  to  fill ; 
An'  consequently  it  wuz  odd  to  see  thet  shingle  out, 
So  they  hed  cum  to  make  a  call  an'  heer  the  stranger  spout ; 
An'  ef  he  spouted  like  a  man,  the  gang  'ud  buy  the  jooce  ; 
But  ef  he  did  n't  belch  out  rite,  they  'd  hev  to  cook  his  goose. 
Then  Doc,  he  made  a  litenin'  move  'at  tuk  us  by  surprise. 
An'  'fore  we  knowed  it,  hed  two  guns  shuved  plum  into   our 

eyes. 
"  Hans  up!  "  sez  Doc,  and  up  they  went — he  hed  the  drap   on 

us. 
An'  every  feller  seed  he  wuz  no  ordernery  cuss. 
The  way  he  held  them  guns,  I  knowed  he  would  n't   make  no 

botch, 
An'  fur  ez  statoo  wuz  consarned  he  beat  the  six  foot  notch. 
He  tol'  the  gang  'at  he  wuz  made  uv  purty  decent  stuff, 
An'  'at  no  onry  skunk  'at  lived  could  make  him  take  a  bluff; 
An*  furthermore  'at  he  hed  cum  to  settia  in  our  town. 
So  ef  we  did  n't  like  his  style  jes'  yank  his  shingle  down. 
But  he  'ud  warn   the  varmint  then  'at  undertuk  the  deed, 
To  make  his  will  in  favor  uv  sum  cuss  'at  wuz  in  need. 
An'  to  insert  a  clause  in  it  'at  likely  'ud  be  granted. 
To  name  the  spot  whar  he  'ud  like  to  hev  his  carkus  planted. 
So  Doc  enumerated  then  how  meny  men  he  'd  killed. 
An'  testified  the  joy  he  felt  when  blud  wuz  bein'  spilled. 
He  sed  he  wuzzen't  very  ol' — in  fack  wuz  twenty-five, 
But  ever'  time  he  quit  a  scrap,  thar  wuz  less  men  alive. 
An'  countin'  them  'at  he  hed  winged  an'  them  whose  lites  wuz 

out 
He  rekoned  thar  'd  be  eighty-five,  er  sum'ers  thar  about. 
But  ef  the  gang  desired  to  live  an'  sung  out  good  an'  strate. 
He  'd  jes'  pos'pone  the  funerel  ontil  sum  futur'  date. 
Fur  he  wuz  wore  out  pluggin'  men  an'  ort  to  hev  a  rest, 
But  ef  the  fellers  disapproved,  he  'lowed  they  knowed  the  best. 
So  then  he  looked  at  Butch  an'  sed  'at  he  desired  sum  gent 
To  orate  fur  the  crowd  an'  say  what  wuz  the  sentiment. 
Then  Brazos  eyed  the  gang  a-spell  an'  giv'  a  little  cough 
An'  sed  the  boys  wuz  all  agreed  to  call  the  durn  thing  off. 
Then  Doc  put  up  them  guns  uv  his  an'  flashed  a  jug  uv  jooce 
'At  he  hed  settin'  on  the  flore  fur  his  immejit  use. 


"DOC"  189 

"  This  ile  ",  sez  Doc,  a  lookin'  'roun',  "  is  frum  a  eastern  jint, 

An'  only  cost  me,  jug  an'  all,  sum  twenty  bones  a  pint." 

He  sed  the  proper  age  uv  it  could  not  be  ritely  tol', 

But  he  'ud  estermate  it  wuz  sum  ninety  odd  year  ol'. 

He  did  n't  know  'at  this  same  ile  was  thet  ident'kle  sort 

'At  Mike  McGrew  keeps  in  a  barr'l  fur  sixty  cents  a  quart. 

But  ez  it  wuz  his  treat,  the  boys  wuz  too  high-toned  to  say 

It  wuz  the  onriest  'at  they  hed  downed  fur  meny  a  day ; 

And  Doc  lied  on  so  nateral  like,  the  gang  wuz  too  perlite 

To  call  him  down  about  the  same  fur  thet  wuz  skeercely  rite  ; 

An'  ef  it  wuz  a  joy  to  him  it  wuz  no  hurt  to  us. 

So  we  kep'  on  a  swallerin'  an'  Doc  kep'  lyin'  wuss. 

Doc  tol'  us  'at  his  folks  at  hum  wuz  loaded  down  'ith  wealth, 

An'  he  wuz  jes'  sojournin'  roun'  fur  buildin'  up  his  health. 

An'  also  'at  ef  he  was  broke  a  tellygram  'ud  bring 

A  hunderd-thousan'  dollar  check  too  quick  fur  enything. 

Ef  thet  thar  feller  tol'  the  truth  while  he  wuz  livin'  here, 

It  mus'  a  ben  a  acksident  when  no  one  else  wuz  near. 

But  then  the  boys  wuz  not  inklined  to  argyfy  'ith  Doc, 

Fur  he  could  skin  us  all  to  death  'ith  them  big  words  in  stock, 

Which  wuz  ez  long  ez  Butch  onct  sed  when  we  wuz  in  Piute, 

Ez  ridin'  hoss-back  all  the  way  frum  thar  to  Scalper's  Chute. 

But  then  the  gang  hed  soon  ketched  on  how  Doc's  talk  all  wuz 

gas. 
So  when  he  tol'  them  yarns  uv  his,  we  simply  let  'em  pass, 
Ez  ef  they  wuz  the  gospul  truth  an'  never  sed  a  word 
Except  they  wuz  the  durndest  things  'at  we  hed  ever  herd. 
But  Doc  wuz  game  an'  would  n't  take  a  bluff  frum  no  galoot 
An'  ef  a  feller  crowded  him,  he  'd  yank  his  tool  an'  shoot. 
Doc's  heart  wuz  big  ez  eny  man's  'at  I  hev  ever  seed, 
An'  no  cuss  ever  got  turned  down  'at  claimed  he  wuz  in  need. 
An'  I  kin  rekollect  uv  Doc  a  hunderd  things  he  did— 
One  night  he  rid  to  Bowie  Bend  to  see  a  greaser  kid 
'At  he  hed  heerd  wuz  down  in  bed  'ith  sum  tarnashun  'plaint. 
When  it  wuz  rainin'  chunks  uv  wet  'at  'ud  hev  drowned  a  saint. 
But  Doc  he  staid  out  thar  thet  night  an'  haf  uv  the  nex'  day, 
An'  when  he  cum  a  ridin'  back,  the  only  thing  he  'd  say 
Wuz,  "  Boys,  the  kid  wuz   too  fur  gone  fur   me  to  beat  the 

game — 
But  I  hev  cured  a  thousan'  kids  efflickted  'bout  the  same." 


190  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

But  we  could  see  his  heart  wuz  teched  by  th'  dampness  in   his 

eye, 
So  to  conceal  the  same,  he  tuk  and  tol'  another  lie. 
Thar  warn't  a  cuss  aroun'  that  way  uv  eny  kind  uv  stock 
'At  could  n't  make  a  hard  luck  play  an'  borry  coin  uv  Doc  ; 
An'  tho'  he  never  got  it  back  in  no  one  case  I  know, 
He  never  made  no  kick  a  tall  but  let  the  borry  go. 
When  'lections  cum  aroun'  thet  Fall  we  sed  'at  Doc  mus'  run 
Fur  sheriff,  jedge  er  sumthin'  else  an'  we  'ud  start  sum  fun 
'Ith  eny  cuss  'at  cum  aroun'  the  town  on  'lection  day 
An'  throwed  a  bluff  uv  his  intent  to  vote  the  tother  way. 
But  Doc  he  sed  it  wuzzen't  rite,  fur  he  wuz  goin'  hum 
An'  would  n't  see  the  town  agen  fur  many  a  year  to  cum  ; 
An'  'at  thar  wuz  a  gal  up  east  'at  wuz  to  be  his  wife. 
So  he  jes'  bed  to  make  a  sneek  an'  change  his  mode  uv  life. 
An'  Doc,  he  lef  within  a  weak  accordin'  to  his  word, 
The  only  statement  uv  a  fack  frum  him  we  ever  herd. 
He  set  'em  up  jes'  fore  he  lef  an'  his  remarks  wuz  fine 
About  the  letters  he  'ud  rite — tho'  no  cuss  got  a  line ; 
An'  Butch  remarked  one  afternoon  about  a  year  from  then, 
While  we  wuz  roundin'  up  sum  steers  on  range  called  "  Num- 
ber Ten," 
Thet  ef  Doc  railly  hed  got  hitched  'at  when  the  preecher  sed 
•'Will  you  run  double  'ith  this  gal?"  why  Doc  he  shuk  his  hed, 
Fur  ef  he  hed  a  nodded  it,  the  truth  'ud  hev  cropped  out. 
An'  truth  wuz  a  gol-durned  affair  Doc  would  n't  hev  about. 
An'  all  the  fellers  in  the  gang  indorsed  the  speech  ez  rite. 
An'  complimented  Butch  an'  swore  'at  he  hed  secon'  sight. 

— Henry  Coolidge  Semple. 


On  a  Petit-Maitre  Physician 

WHEN  Pennington  for  female  ills  Indites, 
Studying  alone  not  what,  but  how,  he  writes, 
The  ladies,  as  his  graceful  form  they  scan. 
Cry,  with  ill-omened  rapture — "  Killing  man!  " 

— Anonymous. 


EPITAPH  191 


Epitaph 

ON  A  PATIENT  KILLED  BY  A  CANCER  QUACK. 

1  ERE  lies  a  fool  flat  on  his  back, 
•  7~j  The  victim  of  a  cancer  quack ; 
^     1  Who  lost  his  money  and  his  life, 
i-  By  plaster,  caustic,  and  by  knife. 

The  case  was  this — a  pimple  rose 

Southeast  a  little  of  his  nose  ; 

Which  daily  reddened  and  grew  bigger. 

As  too  much  drinking  gave  it  vigor : 

A  score  of  gossips  soon  ensure 

Full  three  score  diff 'rent  modes  of  cure: 

But  yet  the  full-fed  pimple  still 

Defied  all  petticoated  skill ; 

When  fortune  led  him  to  peruse 

A  handbill  in  the  weekly  news. 

Signed  by  six  fools  of  different  sorts. 

All  cured  of  cancers  made  of  warts  ; 

Who  recommend,  with  due  submission. 

The  cancer-monger  as  magician. 

Fear  winged  his  flight  to  find  the  quack. 

And  prove  his  cancer-curing  knack  ; 

But  on  his  way  he  found  another, — 

A  second  advertising  brother ; 

But  as  much  like  him  as  an  owl 

Is  unlike  every  handsome  fowl ; 

Whose  fame  had  raised  as  broad  a  fog. 

And  of  the  two  the  greater  hog ; 

Who  used  a  still  more  magic  plaster, 

That  sweat,  forsooth,  and  cured  the  faster. 

This  doctor  viewed,  with  moony  eyes 

And  scowled-up  face,  the  pimple's  size  ; 

Then  christened  it  in  solem  answer. 

And  cried,  "  This  pimpiel's  name  is  CANCER." 


192  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

"  But  courage,  friend,  I  see  you  're  pale, 

My  sweating  plasters  never  fail ; 

I  've  sweated  hundreds  out  with  ease, 

With  roots  as  long  as  maple  trees. 

And  never  failed  in  all  my  trials — 

Behold  these  samples  here  in  vials  ! 

Preserved  to  show  my  wond  'rous  merits, 

Just  as  my  liver  is  in  spirits. 

For  twenty  joes  the  cure  is  done — " 

The  bargain  struck,  the  plaster  on. 

Which  gnawed  the  cancer  at  its  leisure. 

And  pained  his  face  above  all  measure. 

But  still  the  pimple  spread  the  faster, 

And  swelled  like  toad  that  meets  disaster. 

Thus  foiled,  the  doctor  gravely  swore 

It  was  a  right  rose-cancer  sore  ; 

Then  stuck  his  probe  beneath  the  beard, 

And  showed  them  where  the  leaves  appeared  ; 

And  raised  the  patient's  drooping  spirits. 

By  praising  up  the  plaster's  merits. 

Then  purged  him  pale  with  jalap  drastic. 

And  next  applies  th'  infernal  caustic  ; 

Which,  gnawing  on  with  fiery  pace, 

Devoured  one  broadside  of  his  face  ; 

"  Courage — 't  is  done  !  "  the  doctor  cried, 

And  quick  the  incision  knife  applied. 

That  with  three  cuts  made  such  a  hole. 

Out  flew  the  patient's  tortured  soul ! 

Go,  readers,  gentle,  eke  and  simple. 

If  you  have  wart,  or  corn,  or  pimple, 

To  quack  infallible  apply ; 

Here  's  room  enough  for  you  to  lie. 

His  skill  triumphant  still  prevails. 

For  DEATH'S  a  cure  that  never  fails. 

— Dr.  Lemuel  Hopkins, 


GREETING  TO  DR.  HOLMES  193 


Greeting  to  Dr.  Holmes 

Read  at  the  dinner  given  by   the  Medical  Profession  of  New 
York  to  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  April  12tb,  1883. 

YOU  'VE  heard  of  the  deacon's  one-hoss  shay 
Which,  finished  in  Boston  the  self-same  day 
That  the  city  of  Lisbon  went  to  pot, 
Did  a  century's  service,  and  then  was  not. 
But  the  record  's  at  fault  which  says  that  it  bust 
Into  simply  a  heap  of  amorphous  dust ; 
For  after  the  wreck  of  that  wonderful  tub. 
Out  of  the  ruins  they  saved  a  hub ; 
And  the  hub  has  since  stood  for  Boston  town, 
Hub  of  the  Universe — note  that  down. 
But  an  orderly  hub,  as  all  will  own. 
Must  have  something  central  to  turn  upon. 
And,  tempered  and  smooth,  and  true,  and  bright. 
We  have  the  axle  here  tonight. 
Thrice  welcome,  then,  to  our  festal  board 
The  doctor-poet,  so  doubly  stored 
With  science  as  well  as  with  native  wit ; 

(POETA  NASCITUR,  yOU  knOW,  NON  FIT;) 

Skilled  to  dissect  with  knife  or  pen. 
His  subjects  dead  or  living  men  ; 
With  thoughts  sublime  on  every  page 
To  swell  the  veins  with  virtuous  rage. 
Or  with  a  syringe  to  inject  them 
With  sublimate  to  disinfect  them  ; 
To  show  with  demonstrator's  art 
The  complex  chambers  of  the  heart. 
Or,  armed  with  a  diviner  skill. 
To  make  it  pulsate  at  his  will ; 
To  brighten  up  by  harmless  guile 
The  frowning  visage  with  a  smile 
Or  lead  the  class  in  desperate  tussels. 
With  Latin  names  of  facial  muscles. 

5—18 


194  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

By  facile  pen  to  soothe  the  brain 
With  many  a  smooth  melodious  strain. 
Or  to  describe  with  pains  laborious 
The  even  calamus  scriptorius. 
To  fire  the  eye  by  wit  consummate, 
Or  draw  the  aqueous  humor  from  it ; 
In  generous  verse  to  celebrate 

The  loaves  and  fishes  of  some  giver, 
And  then  proceed  to  demonstrate 

The  lobes  and  fissures  of  the  liver ; 
To  nerve  with  fervor  of  appeal 
The  sluggish  muscles  into  steel, 
Or,  pulling  their  attachments,  show 
Whence  they  arise  and  where  they  go ; 
In  times  of  peril  give  the  tone 
To  public  feeling  called  backbone  ; 
Or  grapple  with  that  subject  solemn, 
"  Supporters  of  the  spinal  column." 
And  now  I  close  my  artless  ditty 
As  per  agreement  with  committee  ; 
And  making  place  for  those  more  able, 
I  leave  the  subject  on  the  table. 

Yet  one  word  more.     I  've  had  my  pride 
As  MEDicus  most  sorely  tried. 
When  Englishmen  who  sometimes  show 
Of  things  American,  you  know, 
An  ignorance  that  is  melancholy  ; 
As  Dr.  Holmes  is  very  jolly, 
Assume  that  he  must  therefore  be 
A  Doctor  of  Divinity. 
So  to  avoid  all  chance  of  wrong 
To  medicine,  or  church,  or  song. 
Let  Doctor  Holmes  discarded  be 
For  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES,  M.  D. 

And  now,  for  I  really  must  come  to  an  end, 
May  the  fate  of  the  chaise  be  the  fate  of  our  friend ; 
May  he  never  break  down,  and  never  wear  out, 
But  a  century  old,  or  thereabout, 
Not  feeling  the  weight  of  the  years  as  they  fly ; 
Simply  stop  living  when  ready  to  die. 

— Dr.  Andrew  H.  Smith. 


THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET  195 


The  Old  Oaken  Bucket 

(revised  and  edited  by  "A  sanitarian") 

'ITH  what  anguish  of  mind  I  remember  my  child- 
'li,  I  hood, 

Recalled  in  the  light  of  a  knowledge  since 
gained  ; 
The  malarious  farm,  the  wet  fungus  grown  wildwood, 

The  chills  then  contracted  that  since  have  remained ; 
The  scum-covered  duck  pond,  the  pigsty  close  by  it, 

The  ditch  where  the  sour  smelling  house  drainage  fell ; 
The  damp,  shaded  dwelling,  the  foul  barnyard  nigh  it — 

But  worse  than  all  else  was  that  terrible  well, 
And  the  old  oaken  bucket,  the  mold  crusted  bucket, 
The  moss  covered  bucket  that  hung  in  the  well. 

Just  think  of  it  I     Moss  on  the  vessel  that  lifted 

The  water  I  drank  in  the  days  called  to  mind, 
Ere  I  knew  what  professors  and  scientists  gifted 

In  the  waters  of  wells  by  analysis  find  ; 
The  rotting  wood  fiber,  the  oxide  of  iron, 

The  algffi,  the  frog  of  unusual  size, 
The  water,  impure  as  the  verses  of  Byron, 

Are  things  I  remember  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 

And  to  tell  the  sad  truth — though  I  shudder  to  think  it, 

I  considered  that  water  uncommonly  clear. 
And  often  at  noon,  when  I  went  there  to  drink  it, 

I  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  I  now  enjoy  beer. 
How  ardent  I  seized  it  with  hands  that  were  grimy! 

And  quick  to  the  mud  covered  bottom  it  fell  I 
Then  reeking  with  nitrates  and  nitrites,  and  slimy 

With  matter  organic,  it  rose  from  the  well. 


196  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Oh,  had  I  but  realized  in  time  to  avoid  them, 

The  dangers  that  lurked  in  that  pestilent  draught, 
I  'd  have  tested  for  organic  germs,  and  destroyed  them 

With  potassic  permanganate  ere  I  had  quaffed. 
Or,  perchance,  I  'd  have  boiled  it  and  afterward  strained  it 

Through  filters  of  charcoal  and  gravel  combined  ; 
Or  after  distilling,  condensed  and  regained  it 

In  portable  form,  with  its  filth  left  behind. 

How  little  I  knew  of  the  dread  typhoid  fever 

Which  lurked  in  the  water  I  ventured  to  drink ; 
But  since  I  've  become  a  devoted  believer 

In  the  teachings  of  science,  I  shudder  to  think. 
And  now,  far  removed  from  the  scenes  I  'm  describing, 

The  story  for  warning  to  others  I  tell, 
As  memory  reverts  to  my  youthful  imbibing 

And  I  gag  at  the  thought  of  that  horrible  well. 
And  the  old  oaken  bucket,  the  fungus  grown  bucket — - 

In  fact,  the  slop  bucket — that  hung  in  the  well. 

— J.  C.  Bayles. 


Verses  to  Dr.  George  Rogers 

ON    HIS    TAKING    THE    DEGREE    OF    DOCTOR    OF    PHYSIC  AT  PADUA, 
IN    THE    YEAR     1646. 

'HEN   as  of  old  the  earth's  bold   children 

strove, 
With  hills  on  hills,  to  scale  the   throne  of 
(<s)\  Jove, 

Pallas  and  Mars  stood  by  their  sovereign's  side. 
And  their  bright  arms  in  his  defence  employed  ; 
While  the  wise  Phoebus,  Hermes,  and  the  rest 
Who  joy  in  peace,  and  love  the  Muses  best. 
Descending  from  their  so  distempered  seat. 
Our  groves  and  meadows  chose  for  their  retreat. 


PIN-DE-SIECLE  LOVE  SONG  197 

There  first  Apollo  tried  the  various  use 

Of  herbs,  and  learned  the  virtues  of  their  juice. 

And  framed  that  art,  to  which  who  can  pretend 

A  juster  title  than  our  noble  friend? 

Whom  the  like  tempest  drives  from  his  abode, 

And  like  employment  entertains  abroad. 

This  crowns  him  here,  and  in  the  bays  so  earned, 

His  country's  honor  is  no  less  concerned, 

Since  it  appears  not  all  the  English  rave. 

To  ruin  bent ;  some  study  how  to  save ; 

And  as  Hippocrates  did  once  extend 

His  sacred  art,  whole  cities  to  amend ; 

So  we,  great  friend  1  suppose  that  thy  great  skill, 

Thy  gentle  mind,  and  fair  example,  will. 

At  thy  return,  reclaim  our  frantic  isle, 

Their  spirits  calm,  and  peace  again  shall  smile. 

— Edmund  Waller 


Fin-de-Siecle  Love  Song 

BY    A    DOCTOR 

IVE  me  your  hand  and  let  me  feel  your  pulse 
And  learn  how  fares  your  cardiac  apparatus. 

Whether  it  starts  and  beats  uncertainly. 

While  Cupid  aims  his  keen  swift  arrow  at  us  I 

Grant  me  one  fever,  it  is  all  I  ask — 

Take  me  to  be  your  knight  as  well  as  doctor ! 

For  you,  of  what  fine  potions,  powders,  pills, 
Could  I  forever  be  the  proud  concocter  1 

0,  sweet  compendium  of  anatomy. 

How  beautiful  your  eyelids'  modest  ptosis — 

For  lo  I  you  love,  I  feel  it  in  your  pulse  ; 
I  'd  stake  my  life  upon  my  diagnosis ! 

— Dr.  Frederick  Peterson. 


198  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Ode  to  Dr.  Hahnemann,  the  Homoeopathist 

'ELL,  Doctor, 
Great  concoctor 

Of  medicines  to  help  in  man's  distress ; 
fe)l      Diluting  down  the  strong  to  meek, 
And  making  e  'en  the  weak  more  weak, 
"  Fine  by  degrees,  and  beautifully  less  " — 
Founder  of  a  new  system  economic, 
To  druggists  any  thing  but  comic ; 
Framed  the  whole  race  of  OUapods  to  fret 
At  profits,  like  thy  doses,  very  small ; 
To  put  all  Doctors'  Boys  in  evil  case, 
Thrown  out  of  bread,  of  physic,  and  of  place — 
And  show  us  old  Apothecaries'  Hall 
"To  Let." 

How  fare  thy  Patients?  are  they  dead  or  living. 

Or  well  as  can  expected  be,  with  such 

A  style  of  practice,  liberally  giving 
"  A  sum  of  more  to  that  which  had  too  much  ?  " 
Dost  thou  preserve  the  human  frame,  or  turf  it? 
Do  thorough  draughts  cure  thorough  colds  or  not? 

Do  fevers  yield  to  any  thing  that 's  hot  ? 
Or  hearty  dinners  neutralize  a  surfeit  ? 
Is  't  good  advice  for  gastronomic  ills. 
When  Indigestion's  face  with  pain  is  crumpling, 
To  cry,  "  Discard  those  Peristaltic  Pills, 

Take  a  hard  dumpling?  " 

Tell  me,  thou  German  Cousin, 
And  tell  me  honestly,  without  a  diddle. 
Does  an  attenuated  dose  of  rosin 
Act  as  a  tonic  on  the  old  Scotch  fiddle  ? 
Tell  me,  when  Anhalt-Coethen  babies  wriggle, 

Like  eels  just  caught  by  sniggle. 


ODE  TO  DR.  HAHNEMANN,  THE  HOMCEOPATHIST    199 

Martyrs  to  some  acidity  internal, 

That  gives  them  pangs  infernal. 
Meanwhile  the  lip  grows  black,  the  eye  enlarges; 
Say,  comes  there  all  at  once  a  cherub-calm. 
Thanks  to  that  soothing  homoeopathic  balm, 
The  half  of  half  of  half  a  drop  of  "  varges  "  ? 

Suppose,  for  instance,  upon  Leipzig's  plain. 
A  soldier  pillowed  on  a  heap  of  slain, 
In  urgent  want  both  of  a  priest  and  proctor ; 
When  lo !  there  comes  a  man  in  green  and  red, 
A  featherless  cocked  hat  adorns  his  head, 
In  short,  a  Saxon  military  doctor — 
Would  he,  indeed,  on  the  right  treatment  fix. 
To  cure  a  horrid  gaping  wound. 
Made  by  a  ball  that  weighed  a  pound. 
If  he  well  peppered  it  with  number  six? 

Suppose  a  felon  doomed  to  swing 

Within  a  rope. 

Might  friends  not  hope 
To  cure  him  with  a  string  ? 
Suppose  his  breath  arrived  at  a  full  stop. 
The  shades  of  death  in  a  black  cloud  before  him, 
Would  a  quintillionth  dose  of  the  New  Drop 

Restore  him  ? 

Fancy  a  man  gone  rabid  from  a  bite. 

Snapping  to  left  and  right. 
And  giving  tongue  like  one  of  Sebright's  hounds. 

Terrific  sounds. 
The  pallid  neighborhood  with  horror  cowing. 
To  hit  the  proper  homoeopathic  mark; 
Now,  might  not  "  the  last  taste  in  life  "  of  bark 

Stop  his  BOW-WOW-ING? 

Nay,  with  a  well-known  remedy  to  fit  him. 
Would  he  not  mend,  if,  with  all  proper  care. 

He  took  "A  HAIR 
Of  the  dog  THAT  BIT  HIM  ?  " 


200  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Picture  a  man — we  '11  say  a  Dutch  Meinheer — 

In  evident  emotion, 
Bent  o  'er  the  bulwark  of  the  Batavier, 

Owning  those  symptoms  queer 
Some  feel  in  a  Sick  Transit  o  'er  the  ocean. 
Can  any  thing  in  life  be  more  pathetic 
Than  when  he  turns  to  us  his  wretched  face  ? — 

But  would  it  mend  his  case 

To  be  decillionth-dosed 

With  something  like  the  ghost 
Of  an  emetic? 

Lo  !  now  a  darkened  room ! 

Look  through  the  dreary  gloom, 
And  see  that  coverlet  of  wildest  form, 
Tost  like  the  billows  in  a  storm, 
Where  ever  and  anon,  with  groans,  emerges 

A  ghastly  head ! — 
While  two  impatient  arms  still  beat  the  bed. 
Like  a  strong  swimmer's  struggling  with  the  surges: 
There  Life  and  Death  are  on  their  battle-plain. 
With  many  a  mortal  ecstasy  of  pain — 
What  shall  support  the  body  in  its  trial, 
Cool  the  hot  blood,  wild  dream,  and  parching  skin. 
And  tame  the  raging  Malady  within — 
A  sniff  of  Next-to-Nothing  in  a  phial? 

0 !  Doctor  Hahnemann,  if  here  1  laugh 

And  cry  together,  half  and  half. 
Excuse  me,  'tis  a  mood  the  subject  brings. 
To  think,  whilst  I  have  crowed  like  chanticleer. 
Perchance,  from  some  dull  eye  the  hopeless  tear 
Hath  gushed  with  my  light  levity  at  schism. 

To  mourn  some  Martyr  of  Empiricism : 
Perchance,  upon  thy  system,  I  have  given 
A  pang,  superfluous,  to  the  pains  of  Sorrow, 
Who  weeps  with  Memory  from  morn  till  even ; 
Where  comfort  there  is  none  to  lend  or  borrow, 

Sighing  to  one  sad  strain, 

"  She  will  not  come  again. 


ODE  TO  DR.  HAHNEMANN,  THE  HOMCEOPATHIST    201 

Tomorrow,  nor  tomorrow,  nor  tomorrow!" 
Doctor,  forgive  me,  if  I  dare  prescribe 
A  rule  for  thee  thyself,  and  all  thy  tribe. 
Inserting  a  few  serious  words  by  stealth; 

Above  all  price  of  wealth 
The  Body's  jewel — not  for  minds  profane, 
Or  hands,  to  tamper  with  in  practice  vain — 
Like  to  a  Woman's  Virtue  is  Man's  Health. 
A  heavenly  gift  within  a  holy  shrine! 
To  be  approached  and  touched  with  serious  fear. 
By  hands  made  pure,  and  hearts  of  faith  severe, 
Ev  'n  as  the  Priesthood  of  the  ONE  divine! 

But,  zounds!  each  fellow  with  a  suit  of  black, 

And,  strange  to  fame, 

With  a  diplomaed  name, 
That  carries  two  more  letters  pick-a-back, 
With  cane,  and  snuffbox,  powdered  wig,  and  block. 
Invents  his  dose,  as  if  it  were  a  chrism. 
And  dares  to  treat  our  wondrous  mechanism 
Familiar  as  the  works  of  old  Dutch  clock ; 
Yet,  how  would  common  sense  esteem  the  man, 

0  how,  my  unrelated  German  cousin, 

Who  having  some  such  time-keeper  on  trial. 
And  finding  it  too  fast,  enforced  the  dial, 
To  strike  upon  the  Homoeopathic  plan 
Of  fourteen  to  the  dozen  ? 

Take  my  advice,  'tis  given  without  a  fee, 

Drown,  drown  your  book  ten  thousand  fathoms  deep. 

Like  Prospero's,  beneath  the  briny  sea, 

For  spells  of  magic  have  all  gone  to  sleep ! 

Leave  no  decillionth  fragment  of  your  works 

To  help  the  interest  of  quacking  Burkes ; 

Aid  not  in  murdering  even  widows'  mites — 

And  now  forgive  me  for  my  candid  zeal, 

1  had  not  said  so  much,  but  that  I  feel 

Should  you  take  ill  what  here  my  Muse  indites, 
And  Ode-ling  more  wiii  set  you  all  to  rights. 

— Thomas  Hood 


202  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Our  Faith 

Read  at  the  annual  dinner  of  the  Homoeopathic  Medical  So- 
ciety  of  Western  Massachusetts,  Spring£eld,  March  20,  1895. 

S  comrades  of  a  scattered  band 
At  war  against  disease  and  death, 

We  meet  to  grasp  the  friendly  hand 
And  reaffirm  our  common  faith. 

We  reaffirm,  but  not  abuse, 

The  sacred  rights  for  which  we  stand — 

The  right  to  take,  the  right  to  use. 
The  best  our  wisdom  can  command. 

We  bow  unto  no  nian  the  knee , 

We  brook  no  ancient,  iron  creed: 
Our  attitude  is — Loyalty 

To  Truth  wherever  she  may  lead. 

Whate  'er  of  worth  the  fathers  wrought 

We  humbly,  gratefully  confess  ; 
Nor  prize  we  less  the  latest  thought 

That  comes  humanity  to  bless. 

We  honor  age,  we  honor  youth, 

We  honor  every  class,  or  clan. 
That  bravely  battles  for  the  truth 

And  for  the  betterment  of  man. 


Nor  care  we  what  the  means,  or  whenca 
In  which  restoring  power  we  find — 

From  matter,  or  the  more  intense 
And  subtle  potencies  of  mind, — 


OUR  FAITH  203 

From  earth,  or  air,  or  sun,  or  seas. 

Or  from  the  lightning 's  lurid  breaih.— 
We  care  not,  so  they  heal  disease 

And  stay  the  awful  hand  of  death. 

If  this  be  "  dogmatism  blind," 

With  dear  old  Whittier  we  say: 
"  Pray  for  us,  that  our  feet  may  fini 

Some  broader,  safer,  surer  way." 

Albeit  this  our  faith  holds  fast — 
The  kindlier  method,  known  as  oun. 

Above  the  crudeness  of  the  past. 
Like  Calvary  over  Sinai  towers  I 

The  long-used  lancet  lies  at  rest; 

The  leech  bides  in  its  native  flood: 
And  ne  'er  again,  at  man  's  behest. 

Shall  they  regale  on  human  bloc'«i. 

The  cruel  thirst  of  time  ago 

Is  lost  in  crystal  waters  quaffed; 
For  Hahnemann  has  lived — and  lol 

The  fevered  lip  hath  cooling  draught  I 

All  honor  to  that  gracious  name  f 

Nail  it  aloft  before  our  sight, 
Among  the  noblest  sons  of  fame. 

In  characters  of  living  light! 

But  Heaven  forbid  that  we  should  bodSt 

Over  our  bit  of  knowledge  gained. 
It  seems  so  swallowed  up  and  lost 

Beside  the  boundless  unattained. 

The  unattained  !    Stupendous  word ' 

What  visions  in  its  face  we  see  1 
.And  in  its  syllables  are  heard 

What  whisperings  from  futurity  I 


204  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

It  points  us  to  a  golden  day, 
Wherein  man  shall  so  comprehend 

Great  Nature  's  laws — and  so  obey, 
That  all  disease  shall  have  an  end  ; 

A  day  when  gladness  grief  shall  drown. 
And  dirge  to  delectation  rise. 

And  Prophylaxis  win  the  crown 
From  Therapeutics'  envious  eyes ; 

A  day  when  time,  exempt  from  fears. 
Shall  sit  so  lightly  on  the  brow 

That  man  shall  round  an  hundred  years 
As  gracefully  as  sixty  now. 

Perchance  he  may  on  earth  remain 
So  long  as  he  shall  choose  to  stay, 

Then  take  some  through,  aerial  train, 
And,  like  Elijah,  whirl  away! 

Indeed  we  cannot  apprehend 
The  wonders  we  may  yet  behold. 

When  blood  of  horse  and  man  shall  blend 
As  in  the  centaurs,  famed  of  old ; 

When  wicked  germs  no  more  shall  dare 
To  stifle  babies  at  the  breast, 

And  all  the  microbes  of  the  air 
Have  been  forever  laid  at  rest ; 

When  people,  of  whatever  "  school," 
Shall  cease  to  "  dose" — if  cease  they  can, 

And  learn  that  Nature,  as  a  rule. 
If  not  abused  is  true  to  man. 

'Tis  coming !     Yes,  we  dare  to  hope, 
Though  doubt  doth  every  point  beset. 

The  culture  tube  and  microscope 
Will  solve  the  mighty  problem  yet. 


ESTHETICS  IN  MEDICINE  205 

'Tis  coming — the  protecting  light 

Of  higher  knowledge  yet  to  be — 
As  sure  as  stars  come  out  at  night, 

Or  rivers  reach  the  roaring  sea. 

Tis  coming !     Expectation  thrills 

At  thought  of  triumphs  pressing  on ! 
See !     Even  now  the  eastern  hills 

Are  bannered  with  the  flags  of  dawn ! 

—Dr.  N.  W.  Rand. 


v^sthetics  in  Medicine 

Y  your  leave,  I  desire  just  to  call  your  attention, 
And  will  barely  suggest  that  I  simply  would   men- 
tion 
The  fact  that  the  science  of  beauty  is  rarely 
Brought  into  physic, — at  least  not  quite  fairly! 
For  men  love  their  lager,  and  dinners,  and  wine. 
And  women,  and  horses,  and  everything  fine  ; 
But  physic  goes  begging,  at  least,  if  not  so, 
The  patient  goes  begging  to  let  him  "  go  slow." 
Now  a5sthetics  most  surely  and  certainly  should, 
By  all  that  is  great  and  everything  good, 
Be  brought  into  physic ;  for  what  shall  we  do 
With  mankind  in  a  fever,  "too  utterly  too?" 
And  nothing  that 's  lovely,  and  nothing  that 's  bright, 
With  a  storm  coming  on  and  the  land  out  of  sight  1 
In  place  of  the  old-fashioned  course  of  emetics, 
Why  not  give  a  dose  of  exquisite  aesthetics  ? 
Bring  your  patient  to  health  on  a  bed  of  soft  roses, 
Surrounded  by  lilies,  and  sunflowers,  and  posies  I 
Now,  the  knife  of  surgeon — as  an  entering  wedge — 
Should  be  shining  and  bright,  with  no  "  feather  edge," 
And  should  penetrate  kindly  and  gently  and  sure, 
With  a  loving  respect  for  all  human  gore. 
The  patient  should  lie  in  an  easy  repose, 
With  a  flower  on  his  breast  (a.  carnation  rose)  , 


206  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  be  perfectly  calm  and  collected,  unruffled, 

While  gently  his  sighs  by  a  sunflower  are  muffled. 

Again,  when  we  reach  the  domain  of  the  eye — 

That  beautiful  organ  so  like  to  the  sky— 

The  delicate,  sensitive,  beautiful  slash 

Iridectomy  calls  for,  should  be  done  with  a  gash 

So  fine  in  its  features,  so  graceful  in  curve, 

That  nature  will  halt  to  admire  its  sweet  swerve. 

And  then — now,  you  members  who  do  much  of  this 

Will  want  to  get  out  your  old  student 's  hiss — 

In  the  line  of  obstetrics,  where  is  the  face 

That  never  saw  loveliness  in  such  a  place  ? 

Your  patient,  of  course,  is  having  some  pain! 

But  they  're  sweet,  if  they  're  frequent  enough,  and  again, 

They  certainly  will,  and  its  lovely  to  know, 

Produce  a  production  1  a  blossom,  a  blow ! 

In  cases  like  this  there  should  be  no  annoy ; 

The  nurse  and  attendants  all  pregnant  with  joy, 

Should  buoy  up  the  patient  (no  pun — understand !) 

And  bring  the  whole  cargo  to  light  and  to  land. 

Again,  in  prognosing  any  kind  of  disease. 

It  is  well  to  avoid  getting  up  any  breeze 

By  telling  the  patients  they  're  likely  to  die, 

When  the  trouble  in  fact  may  be  all  in  your  eye, 

And  the  patient  as  safe  as  old  Aristotle, 

When  he  stranded  on  Greece  like  a  castor  oil  bottle  I 

Just  tell  'em  you  '11  fetch  'em  out  all  high  and  dry, 

That  all  things  are  lovely  and  the  goose  hangeth  high  ! 

That  the  bright  shining  sun  will  be  struck  by  a  comet, 

Before  the  hearse  starts,  and  they  ever  get  on  it ! 

That  the  lilies  which  float  in  the  sunlight 's  broad  gleam 

Will  pull  out  their  roots  and  start  up  the  stream 

Before  they  e  'er  launch  in  Charon  's  old  shell 

Which  crosses  the  river  and  paddles  for — well. 

Encourage  your  patients,  and  teach  them  to  know 

That  there  's  something  to  live  for,  to  blossom  and  grow ; 

Don  't  give  up  the  case  'till  flowers  cease  to  bloom, 

Because  sadness  comes  o  'er  you,  despondence,  and  gloom ! 

Don  't  take  a  back  seat  while  blossoms  still  flutter. 

For  there  's  flowers  in  physic  "  too  utterly  utter !  " 

—Dr.  E.  B.  Ward. 


THE  BIRTH  AND  DEATH  OF  PAIN  207 


The  Birth  and  Death  of  Pain 

Read  October  16,  1896,  at  the  commemoration  of  the  Fiftieth 
Anniversary  of  the  First  Public  Demonstration  of  Surgical  Anes- 
thesia. 

"^  ORGIVE  a  moment,  if  a  friend's  regret, 

r  Delay  the  task  your  honoring  kindness  set. 
I  miss  one  face  to  all  men  ever  dear ; 
I  miss  one  voice  that  all  men  loved  to  hear. 
How  glad  were  I  to  sit  with  you  apart 
Could  the  dead  master  use  his  higher  art 
To  lift  on  wings  of  ever  lightsome  mirth 
The  burdened  muse  above  the  dust  of  earth, 
To  stamp  with  jests  the  heavy  ore  of  thought, 
To  give  a  day,  with  proud  remembrance  fraught. 
The  vital  pathos  of  that  Holmes-spun  art 
Which  knew  so  well  to  reach  the  common  heart. 
Alas !  for  me,  for  you,  that  fatal  hour ! 
Gone  is  the  master !     Ah !  not  mine  the  power 
To  gild  with  jests,  that  almost  win  a  tear, 
The  thronging  memories  thai  are  with  us  here. 

The  Birth  of  Pain!     Let  centuries  roll  away; 
Come  back  with  me  to  nature's  primal  day. 
What  mighty  forces  pledged  the  dust  to  life ! 
What  awful  will  decreed  its  silent  strife  1 
Till  through  vast  ages  rose  on  hill  and  plain 
Life's  saddest  voice,  the  birth-right  wail  of  pain. 
The  keener  sense,  and  ever  growing  mind, 
Served  but  to  add  a  torment  twice  refined, 
As  life,  more  tender,  as  it  grew  more  sweet, 
The  cruel  links  of  sorrow  found  complete 
When  yearning  love  to  conscious  pity  grown 
Felt  the  mad  pain  thrills,  that  were  not  its  own. 

What  will  implacable,  beyond  our  ken. 
Set  this  stern  fiat  for  the  tribes  of  men ! 


208  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

This,  none  shall  'scape,  who  share  our  human  fates: 
One  stern  democracy  of  anguish  waits 
By  poor  men's  cots — within  the  rich  man's  gates. 
What  purpose  hath  it?     Nay,  thy  quest  is  vain  : 
Earth  hath  no  answer :     If  the  baffled  brain 
Cries,  'tis  to  warn,  to  punish — Ah,  refrain ! 
When  writhes  the  child,  beneath  the  surgeon's  hand, 
What  soul  shall  hope  that  pain  to  understand  ? 
Lo !     Science  falters  o  'er  the  hopeless  task, 
And  Love  and  Faith  in  vain  an  answer  ask, 
When  thrilling  nerves  demand  what  good  is  wrought 
Where  torture  clogs  the  very  source  of  thought. 
Lo !     Mercy  ever  broadening  down  the  years 
Seeks  but  to  count  a  lessening  sum  of  tears. 

The  rack  is — the  torture  chamber  lies 

A  sorry  show  for  shuddering  tourists'  eyes. 

How  useless  pain,  both  Church  and  State  have  learned 

Since  the  last  witch,  or  patient  martyr  burned. 

Yet  still,  forever,  he  who  strove  to  gain 

By  swift  despatch  a  shorter  lease  for  pain 

Saw  the  grim  theater,  and  'neath  his  knife, 

Felt  the  keen  torture,  in  the  quivering  life. 

A  word  for  him  who,  silent,  grave,  serene. 

The  thought-stirred  master  of  that  tragic  scene. 

Recorded  pity  through  the  hand  of  skill, 

Heard  not  a  cry,  but,  ever  conscious,  still. 

In  mercy  merciless,  swift,  bold  intent. 

Felt  the  slow  moments  that  in  torture  went 

While  'neath  his  touch,  as  none  today  has  seen. 

In  anguish  shook  life's  agonized  machine. 

The  task  is  o  'er ;  the  precious  blood  is  stayed ; 

But  double  price  the  hour  of  tension  paid. 

A  pitying  hand  is  on  the  sufferer's  brow — 

"  Thank  God  'tis  over."     Few  who  face  me  now 

Recall  this  memory,  let  the  curtain  fall, 

Far  gladder  days  shall  know  this  storied  hall ! 

Though  Science  patient  as  the  fruitful  years. 
Still  taught  our  art  to  close  some  fount  of  tears, 


THE  BIRTH  AND  DEATH  OF  PAIN  209 

Yet  who  that  served  this  sacred  home  of  pain 
Could  e  'er  have  dreamed  one  scarce-imagined  gain. 
Or  hoped  a  day  would  bring  his  fearful  art 
No  need  to  steel  the  ever  kindly  heart. 

So  fled  the  years !     While  haply  here  or  there, 

Some  trust  delusive  left  the  old  despair; 

Some  comet  thought — flashed  fitful  through  the  night. 

No  lasting  record,  and  no  constant  light. 

Then  radiant  morning  broke,  and  ampler  hope 

To  art  and  science  gave  illum.ined  scope, 

What  Angel  bore  the  Christ-like  gift  inspired 

What  love  divine  with  noblest  courage  fired 

One  eager  soul  that  paid  in  bitter  tears 

For  the  glad  helping  of  unnumbered  fears. 

From  the  strange  record  of  creation  tore 

The  sentence  sad,  each  sorrowing  mother  bore 

Struck  from  the  roll  of  pangs  one  awful  sum, 

Made  pain  a  dream,  and  suffering  gently  dumb ! 

Whatever  triumphs  still  shall  hold  the  mind, 
Whatever  gifts  shall  yet  enrich  mankind. 
Ah!  here,  no  hours  shall  strike  through  all  the  years. 
No  hour  as  sweet,  as  when  hope,  doubt  and  fears, 
'Mid  deepening  stillness,  watched  one  eager  brain. 
With  God-like  will,  decree  the  Death  of  Pain. 

How  did  we  thank  him  ?     Ah !  no  joy-bells  rang. 

No  pasans  greeted,  and  no  poet  sang. 

No  cannon  thundered,  from  the  guarded  strand 

This  mighty  victory  to  a  grateful  land  ! 

We  took  the  gift,  so  humbly,  simply  given, 

And  coldly  selfish — left  our  debt  to  Heaven. 

How  shall  we  thank  him?     Hush  !  a  gladder  hout 

Has  struck  for  him  ;  a  wiser  power 

Shall  know  full  well  how  fitly  to  reward 

The  generous  soul,  that  found  the  world  so  hard. 

Oh!  fruitful  Mother — you,  whose  thronging  states, 
Shall  deal  not  vainly  with  man's  changing  fates, 

6—14 


^10  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Of  freeborn  thought,  or  war's  heroic  deeds, 
Much  have  your  proud  hands  given,  but  nought  exceeds 
This  Heaven-sent  answer  to  the  cry  of  prayer, 
This  priceless  gift  which  all  mankind  may  share. 

A  solemn  hour  for  such  as  gravely  pause 
To  note  the  process  of  creation's  laws  ! 
Ah,  surely,  he,  whose  dark,  unfathomed  mind 
With  prescient  thought,  the  scheme  of  life  designed. 
Who  bade  His  highest  creature  slowly  rise, 
Spurred  by  sad  needs,  and  lured  by  many  a  prize. 
Saw,  with  a  God's  pure  joy,  His  ripening  plan, 
His  highest  mercy  brought  by  man  to  man. 

— Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell. 


Feminine  Pharmacy 


y*HERE  in  the  corner  Pharmacy, 
-f       This  lithesome  lady  lingers. 
And  potent  pills  and  philters  true 
Are  fashioned  by  her  fingers. 


Her  face  behind  the  soda  fount. 

May  oft  be  seen  in  summer, 
How  sweetly  foams  the  soda  fizz, 

When  you  receive  it  from  her ! 

While  mixing  belladonna  drops 

With  tincture  of  lobelia 
And  putting  up  prescriptions  she 

Is  fairer  than  Ophelia. 

Each  poison  has  its  proper  place. 

Each  potion  in  its  chalice ; 
Her  daedal  fingers  are  so  deft. 

They  call  her  digit  Alice. 

— Dr.  Harvey  Washington  Wiley. 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  M.  D.  211 


Rip  Van  Winkle,  M.  D. 

An  after-dinner  prescription  taken  by  the  Massachusetts  Med- 
ical Society,  at  their  meeting  held  May  25,  1870. 

CANTO    FIRST. 

LD  Rip  Van  Winkle  had  a  grandson  Rip, 
lOf  the  paternal  block  a  genuine  chip, — 
[A  lazy,  sleepy,  curious  kind  of  chap; 
He,  like  his  grandsire,  took  a  mighty  nap. 
Whereof  the  story  I  propose  to  tell 
In  two  brief  cantos,  if  you  listen  well. 

The  times  were  hard  when  Rip  to  manhood  grew ; 
They  always  will  be  when  there  's  work  to  do. 
He  tried  at  farming, — found  it  rather  slow. — 
And  then  at  teaching — what  he  didn  't  know ; 
Then  took  to  hanging  round  the  tavern  bars, 
To  frequent  toddies  and  long-nine  cigars, 
Till  Dame  Van  Winkle,  out  of  patience,  vexed 
With  preaching  homilies,  having  for  their  text 
A  mop,  a  broomstick,  aught  that  might  avail 
To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale. 
Exclaimed,  "  I  have  it!     Now,  then,  Mr.  V. ! 
He  's  good  for  something, — make  him  an  M.  D. ! " 

The  die  was  cast ;  the  youngster  was  content ; 
They  packed  his  shirts  and  stockings,  and  he  went. 
How  hard  he  studied  it  were  vain  to  tell ; 
He  drowsed  through  Wistar,  nodded  over  Bell, 
Slept  sound  with  Cooper,  snored  aloud  on  Good ; 
Heard  heaps  of  lectures, — doubtless  understood, — 
A  constant  listener,  for  he  did  not  fail 
To  carve  his  name  on  every  bench  and  rail. 


212  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Months  grew  to  years ;  at  last  he  counted  three, 
And  Rip  Van  Winkle  found  himself  M.  D. 
Illustrious  title !  in  a  gilded  frame 
He  set  the  sheepskin  with  his  Latin  name, 
Ripum  Van  Winklum,  quern  we — scimus — know 
Idoneum  esse — to  do  so  and  so. 
He  hired  an  office  ;  soon  its  walls  displayed 
His  new  diploma  and  his  stock  in  trade, 
A  mighty  arsenal  to  subdue  disease, 
Of  various  names,  whereof  I  mention  these  : 
Lancets  and  bougies,  great  and  little  squirt. 
Rhubarb  and  Senna,  Snakeroot,  Thoroughwort, 
Ant,  Tart.,  Vin.  Colch.,  Pil.  Cochia;,  and  Black  Drop, 
Tinctures  of  Opium,  Gentian,  Henbane,  Hop, 
Pulv.  Ipecacuanhge,  which  for  lack 
Of  breath  to  utter  men  call  Ipecac, 
Camphor  and  Kino,  Turpentine,  Tolu, 
Cubebs,  "  Copeevy,"  Vitriol, — white  and  blue, — 
Fennel,  and  Flaxseed.  Slippery  Elm  and  Squill, 
And  roots  of  Sassafras,  and  "  Sassaf  'rill," 
Brandy, — for  colics, — Pinkroot,  death  on  worms, — 
Valerian,  calmer  of  hysteric  squirms. 
Musk,  Assafoetida,  the  resinous  gum 
Named  from  its  odor, — well,  it  does  smell  some, — 
Jalap,  that  works  not  wisely,  but  too  well. 
Ten  pounds  of  Bark  and  six  of  Calomel. 


For  outward  griefs  he  had  an  ample  store, 
Some  twenty  jars  and  gallipots,  or  more : 
Ceratum  simplex — housewives  oft  compile 
The  same  at  home,  and  call  it  "  wax  and  ile ; " 
Unguentum  resinosum — change  its  name. 
The  "  drawing  salve  "  of  many  an  ancient  dame  ; 
Argenti  Nitras,  also  Spanish  flies. 
Whose  virtue  makes  the  water-bladders  rise — 
(Some  say  that  spread  upon  a  toper 's  skin 
They  draw  no  water,  only  rum  or  gin) ; 
Leeches,  sweet  vermin !  don 't  they  charm  the  sick  ? 
And  Sticking-plaster — how  it  hates  to  stick  ! 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  M.  D.  213 

Emplastrum  Ferri — ditto  Picis,  Pitch ; 

Washes  and  Powders,  Brimstone  for  the — which, 

Scabies  or  Psora,  Is  thy  chosen  name 

Since  Hahnemann 's  goose-quill  scratched  thee   into 

fame. 
Proved  thee  the  source  of  every  nameless  ill. 
Whose  sole  specific  is  a  moonshine  pill. 
Till  saucy  Science,  with  a  quiet  grin. 
Held  up  the  Acarus,  crawling  on  a  pin? 
— Mountains  have  labored  and  have  brought  forth  mice : 
The  Dutchm.an  's  theory  hatched  a  brood  of — twice 
I  've  well  nigh  said  them — words  unfitting  quite 
For  these  fair  precincts  and  for  ears  polite. 

The  surest  foot  may  chance  at  last  to  slip, 
And  so  at  length  it  proved  with  Doctor  Rip. 
One  full-sized  bottle  stood  upon  the  shelf. 
Which  held  the  medicine  that  he  took  himself; 
Whate  'er  the  reason,  it  must  be  confessed 
He  filled  that  bottle  oftener  than  the  rest ; 
What  drug  it  held  I  don  't  presume  to  know — 
The  gilded  label  said  "  Elixir  Pro." 

One  day  the  Doctor  found  the  bottle  full, 
And,  being  thirsty,  took  a  vigorous  pull. 
Put  back  the  "  Elixir"  where  'twas  always  found. 
And  had  old  Dobbin  saddled  and  brought  round, 
— You  know  those  old-time  rhubarb-colored  nags 
That  carried  Doctors  and  their  saddle-bags ; 
Sagacious  beasts  1  they  stopped  at  every  place 
Where  blinds  were  shut — knew  every  patient 's  case — 
Looked  up  and  thought — The  baby  's  in  a  fit — 
That  won  't  last  long — he  '11  soon  be  through  with  it; 
But  shook  their  heads  before  the  knockered  door 
Where  some  old  lady  told  the  story  o  'er 
Whose  endless  stream  of  tribulation  flows 
For  gastric  griefs  and  peristaltic  woes. 

What  jack-o'  lantern  led  him  from  his  way 
And  where  it  led  him.,  it  were  hard  to  say; 


214  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Enough  that  wandering  many  a  weary  mile 
Through  paths  the  mountain  sheep  trod  single  file, 

0  'ercome  by  feelings  such  as  patients  know 
Who  dose  too  freely  with  "  Elixir  Pro," 

He  tumbl — dismounted,  slightly  in  a  heap, 
And  lay,  promiscuous,  lapped  in  balmy  sleep. 

Night  followed  night,  and  day  succeeded  day. 
But  snoring  still  the  slumbering  Doctor  lay. 
Poor  Dobbin,  starving,  thought  upon  his  stall. 
And  straggled  homeward,  saddle-bags  and  all. 
The  village  people  hunted  all  around. 
But  Rip  was  missing, — never  could  be  found. 
*'  Drowned,"  they  guessed ; — for  more  than  half  a  year 
The  pouts  and  eels  did  taste  uncommon  queer ; 
Some  said  of  apple-brandy — other  some 
Found  a  strong  flavor  of  New  England  rum. 

Why  can  't  a  fellow  hear  the  fine  things  said 
About  a  fellow  when  a  fellow  's  dead  ? 
The  best  of  doctors — so  the  press  declared — 
A  public  blessing  while  his  life  was  spared, 
True  to  his  country,  bounteous  to  the  poor, 
In  all  things  temperate,  sober,  just,  and  pure ; 
The  best  of  husbands  !  echoed  Mrs.  Van, 
And  set  her  cap  to  catch  another  man. 

So  ends  this  Canto — if  it 's  quantum  suff., 
We  'II  Just  stop  here  and  say  we  've  had  enough, 
And  leave  poor  Rip  to  sleep  for  thirty  years ; 

1  grind  the  organ — if  you  lend  your  ears 
To  hear  my  second  Canto,  after  that 

We  '11  send  around  the  monkey  with  the  hat. 

CANTO    SECOND. 

So  thirty  years  had  passed — but  not  a  word 
In  all  that  time  of  Rip  was  ever  heard  ; 
The  world  wagged  on — it  never  does  go  back— 
The  widow  Van  was  now  the  widow  Mac — 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  M.  D.  215 

France  was  an  Empire — Andrew  J.  was  dead, 

And  Abraham  L.  was  reigning  in  his  stead. 

Four  murderous  years  had  passed  in  savage  strife, 

Yet  still  the  rebel  held  his  bloody  knife 

At  last  one  morning — who  forgets  the  day — 

When  the  black  cloud  of  war  dissolved  away? 

The  joyous  tidings  spread  o  'er  land  and  sea, 

Rebellion  done  for !     Grant  has  captured  Lee ! 

Up  every  flagstaff  sprang  the  Stars  and  Stripes — 

Out  rushed  the  Extras  wild  with  mammoth  types — 

Down  went  the  laborer's  hod,  the  school-boy's  book — 

"  Hooraw !  "  he  cries,  "  the  rebel  army  's  took  I " 

Ah  !  what  a  time  !  the  folks  all  mad  with  joy : 

Each  fond,  pale  mother  thinking  of  her  boy ; 

Old     gray-haired     fathers     meeting — "  Have — you — 

heard?  " 
And  then  a  choke — and  not  another  word ; 
Sisters  all  smiling — maidens,  not  less  dear, 
In  trembling  poise  between  a  smile  and  tear ; 
Poor  Bridget  thinking  how  she  '11  stuff  the  plums 
In  that  big  cake  for  Johnny  when  he  comes ; 
Cripples  afoot;  rheumatics  on  the  jump  ; 
Old  girls  so  loving  they  could  hug  the  pump ; 
Guns  going  bang!  from  every  fort  and  ship; 
They  banged  so  loud  at  last  they  wakened  Rip 

I  spare  the  picture,  how  a  man  appears 
Who  's  been  asleep  a  score  or  two  of  years ; 
You  all  have  seen  it  to  perfection  done 
By  Joe  Van  Wink— I  mean  Rip  Jefferson. 
Well,  so  it  was ;  old  Rip  at  last  came  back. 
Claimed  his  old  wife — the  present  widow  Mac — 

Had  his  old  sign  regilded,  and  began 

To  practice  physic  on  the  same  old  plan. 

Some  weeks  went  by — it  was  not  long  to  wait— 
And  "  please  to  call  "  grew  frequent  on  the  slate 
He  had,  in  fact,  an  ancient,  mildewed  air, 
A  long  gray  beard,  a  plenteous  lack  of  hair, — 
The  musty  look  that  always  recommends 


216  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Your  good  old  Doctor  to  his  ailing  friends. 
— Talk  of  your  science  !  after  all  is  said 
There  's  nothing  like  a  bare  and  shiny  head  ; 
Age  lends  the  graces  that  are  sure  to  please  ; 
Folks  want  their  Doctors  mouldy,  like  their  cheese. 

So,  Rip  began  to  look  at  people  's  tongues 
And  thump  their  briskets  (called  it  "  sound  their  lungs") , 
Brushed  up  his  knowledge  smartly  as  he  could, 
Read  in  old  Cullen  and  in  Doctor  Good. 
The  town  was  healthy ;  for  a  month  or  two 
He  gave  the  sexton  little  work  to  do. 

About  the  time  when  dog-day  heats  begin. 
The  summer's  usual  maladies  set  in  ; 
With  autumn  evenings  dysentery  came. 
And  dusky  typhoid  lit  his  smouldering  flame  ; 
The  blacksmith  ailed,  the  carpenter  was  down, 
And  half  the  children  sickened  in  the  town. 
The  sexton's  face  grew  shorter  than  before — 
The  sexton's  wife  a  bran-new  bonnet  wore — 
Things  looked  quite  serious — Death  had  got  a  grip 
On  old  and  young,  in  spite  of  Doctor  Rip. 

And  now  the  Squire  was  taken  with  a  chill — 
Wife  gave  "hot-drops" — at  night  an  Indian  pill; 
Next  morning,  feverish — bedtime,  getting  worse — 
Out  of  his  head — began  to  rave  and  curse ; 
The  Doctor  sent  for — double  quick  he  came  : 
Ant.  Tart.  gran,  duo,  and  repeat  the  same 
If  no  ET  CETERA.     Third  day — nothing  new; 
Percussed  his  thorax  till  't  was  black  and  blue — 
Lung-fever  threatening — something  of  the  sort — 
Out  with  the  lancet — let  him  bleed — a  quart — 
Ten  leeches  next — then  blisters  to  his  side  ; 
Ten  grains  of  calomel ;  just  then  he  died. 

The  Deacon  next  required  the  Doctor's  care — 
Took  cold  by  sitting  in  a  draught  of  air — 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE,  M.  D  217 

Pains  in  the  back,  but  what  the  matter  is 

Not  quite  so  clear, — wife  calls  it  "  rheumatiz." 

Rubs  back  with  flannel — gives  him  something  hot — 

"  Ah !  "  says  the  Deacon,  "  that  goes  nigh  the  spot." 

Next  day  a  rigor — "  Run,  my  little  man, 

And  say  the  Deacon  sends  for  Doctor  Van." 

The  Doctor  came — percussion  as  before. 

Thumping  and  banging  till  his  ribs  were  sore — 

"  Right  side  the  flattest" — then  more  vigorous  raps — 

"  Fever — that  's  certain — pleurisy,  perhaps. 

A  quart  of  blood  will  ease  the  pain,  no  doubt. 

Ten  leeches  next  will  help  to  suck  it  out, 

Then  clap  a  blister  on  the  painful  part — 

But  first  two  grains  of  Antimonium  Tart. 

Last  with  a  dose  of  cleansing  calomel 

Unload  the  portal  system — (that  sounds  well!)" 

But  when  the  selfsame  remedies  were  tried. 
As  all  the  village  knew,  the  Squire  had  died ; 
The  neighbors  hinted :  "  This  will  never  do  ; 
He's  killed  the  Squire— he  '11  kill  the  Deacon  too.' 

Now  when  a  doctor's  patients  are  perplexed 
A  CONSULTATION  comes  in  order  next — 
You  know  what  that  is?     In  a  certain  place 
Meet  certain  doctors  to  discuss  a  case 
And  other  matters,  such  as  weather,  crops, 
Potatoes,  pumpkins,  lager-beer  and  hops. 
For  what's  the  use!— there's  little  to  be  said. 
Nine  times  in  ten  your  man's  as  good  as  dead ; 
At  best  a  talk  (the  secret  to  disclose — 
Where  three  men  guess  and  sometimes  one  man  knows.) 

The  counsel  summoned  came  without  delay — 
Young  Doctor  Green  and  shrewd  old  Doctor  Gray 
They  heard  the  story — "  Bleed  !  "  says  Doctor  Green, 
•'  That's  downright  murder !  cut  his  throat,  you  mean  1 
Leeches  !  the  reptiles  1    Why  for  pity's  sake, 
Not  try  an  adder  or  a  rattlesnake? 


218  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Blisters'.    Why  bless  you,  they're  against  the  law- 
It's  rank  assault  and  battery  if  they  draw ! 
Tartrate  of  Antimony !  shade  of  Luke, 
Stomachs  turn  pale  at  thought  of  such  rebuke ! 
The  portal  system  1    What's  the  man  about? 
Unload  your  nonsense  !    Calomel 's  played  out ! 
You've  been  asleep — you'd  better  sleep  away 
Till  some  one  calls  you." 

"  Stop !  "  says  Doctor  Gray — 
"  The  story  is  you  slept  for  thirty  years ; 
With  brother  Green,  I  own  that  it  appears 
You  must  have  slumbered  most  amazing  sound ; 
But  sleep  once  more  till  thirty  years  come  round, 
You'll  find  the  lancet  in  its  honored  place, 
Leeches  and  blisters  rescued  from  disgrace, 
Your  drugs  redeemed  from  fashion's  passing  scorn. 
And  counted  safe  to  give  to  babes  unborn." 

Poor  sleepy  Rip,  M.  M.  S.  S.,  M.  D., 
A  puzzled,  serious,  saddened  man  was  he; 
Home  from  the  Deacon's  house  he  plodded  slow 
And  filled  one  bumper  of  "  Elixir  Pro." 
"  Good-by,"  he  faltered,  "  Mrs.  Van,  my  dear! 
I  'm  going  to  sleep,  but  wake  me  once  a  year ; 
I  don't  like  bleaching  in  the  frost  and  dew, 
1  '11  take  the  barn,  if  all  the  same  to  you, 
Just  once  a  year — remember !  no  mistake  1 
Cry,  '  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  time  for  you  to  wake ! ' 
Watch  for  the  week  in  May  when  laylocks  blow, 
For  then  the  Doctors  meet,  and  I  must  go." 

Just  once  a  year  the  Doctor's  worthy  dame 
Goes  to  the  barn  and  shouts  her  husband  's  name ; 
"  Come,  Rip  Van  Winkle !  "  (giving  him  a  shake) 
"  Rip !  Rip  Van  Winkle !  time  for  you  to  wake ! 
Laylocks  in  blossom !  't  is  the  month  of  May — 
The  Doctors'  meeting  is  this  blessed  day. 
And  come  what  will,  you  know  I  heard  you  swear 
You  'd  never  miss  it,  but  be  always  there !  " 


HYGEIA!  GRANT  THY  BLESSING  219 

And  so  it  is,  as  every  year  comes  round 
Old  Rip  Van  Winkle  here  is  always  found. 
You  '11  quickly  know  him  by  his  mildewed  air, 
The  hayseed  sprinkled  through  his  scanty  hair, 
The  lichens  growing  on  his  rusty  suit — 
I  've  seen  a  toadstool  sprouting  on  his  boot — 
Who  says  1  lie  ?     Does  any  man  presume  ? — 
Toadstool !     No  matter — call  it  a  mushroom. 
Where  is  his  seat?     He  moves  it  every  year ; 
But  look,  you  '11  find  him, — he  is  always  here,— 
Perhaps  you  '11  track  him  by  a  whiff  you  know — 
A  certain  flavor  of  "  Elixir  Pro." 

Now,  then,  I  give  you — as  you  seem  to  think 
We  can  give  toasts  without  a  drop  to  drink — 
Health  to  the  mighty  sleepers, — long  live  he  ! 
Our  brother  Rip,  M.  M.  S.  S.,  M.  D.  1 

— Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


Hygeia  Grant  Thy  Blessing 

t¥  AIL  to  all  y^sculapians  the  nation  's  bond  enfolds, 
J,    I  And  to  all  good  companions,  whom  friendship  's  union 
^  I  holds ; 

1-     Hygeia !     Grant  thy  blessing  to  all  whom  we  adore. 
And  with  thy  healing  wisdom  guide  thou  us  evermore. 

From  silent  forest  flowing  the  healing  waters  pour. 
Refreshing  all  that 's  growing  and  aiding  life  endure. 
And  as  the  meadows  languish  for  blessed  rain,  so  we 
When  suff  'ring,  in  our  anguish  Hygeia  sigh  for  thee. 

When  we  are  weak  and  ailing,  let  thou  us  not  despair, 
With  succor  never  failing  bring  hope  and  comfort  fair. 
O  thou  benignant  mother  of  health,  and  strength  and  might, 
Bring  brother  near  to  brother  in  knowledge,  truth  and  might. 

— Dr.  John  C.  Hemmeter. 


220  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


A  Hospital  Story 

HITE  faces,  pained  and  thin, 
Gathered  new  pain — as  at  some  sight  of  slaughter- 
And  waiting  nurses,  with  their  cups  of  water, 
Shrank,  when  they  saw  the  bargeman 's  little 

daughter, 
From  Hester  Street,  brought  In. 


Caught  by  the  cruel  fire, 
In  act  of  filial  duty,  she  had  tasted 
Death  even  then.     The  form  that  flame  had  wasted, 
In  vain,  to  save,  the  swiftest  helpers  hasted, 

With  love  that  would  not  tire. 

And  all  that  skill  could  do 
Was  done.     Her  fevered  nerves,  with  anguish  leaping 
The  surgeon  soothed  at  last;  and,  left  in  keeping 
Of  tender  eyes  that  night,  the  child  lay  sleeping 

Until  the  clock  struck  two. 

The  streets'  loud  roar  had  died. 
No  angry  shout  was  heard,  nor  drunken  ditty; 
From  Harlem  to  the  bay,  peace  held  the  city 
And  the  great  hospital,  where  holy  Pity 

With  Grief  knelt,  side  by  side. 

The  watchful  nurse  leaned  low, 
And  saw  in  the  scarred  face  the  life-light  waver. 
Poor  Annie  woke.     A  cooling  draught  she  gave  her, 
And  called  the  doctor ;  but  he  could  not  save  her, 

And  soon  he  turned  to  go. 

Calm,  as  from  torture  free, 
She  lay;  then  strangely,  through  her  lips,  sore  wounded. 


Ti: 


t^l  Sto 


'■rom  Hester  Street, 

Caught  by  the  crue!  fl 

'd  duty,  she  h. 

, -;.!  then.     Th-  ^ 

to  save,  the  . 

With  iove  that  would  not  tire. 
The   P  OS  t-Mor  tem 

ould  do 


^ 


t  waver. 


Ai 


>rie  lay;  then  si. 


A  LOVER  OP  LEARNING  221 

Broke  warbled  words,  and  the  tones  swelled,  and  rounded 
To  a  clear  nymn,  that  like  an  angel 's  sounded — 
•'  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee !  " 

One  stanza,  strong  and  sweet, 
Of  that  melodious  prayer,  to  heaven  went  winging 
From  the  child  's  soul ;  and  all  who  heard  that  singing 
Gazed  through  quick  tears,  or  bowed,  like  suppliants  clinging 

Around  the  Mercy  Seat. 

Then  to  a  slender  hum 
Sank  the  soft  song,  too  feeble  to  recover ; 
But  the  sick  heard,  and  felt  it  o  'er  them  hover 
Like  a  saint 's  blessing — till  the  scene  was  over, 

And  the  young  voice  was  dumb. 

"  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee !  " 
God  heard.     He  loosed  from  earth,  in  his  good  pleasure. 
That  little  life,  and  took  it  for  his  treasure ; 
AtkI  all  his  love — a  love  no  mind  can  measure — 

Answered  poor  Annie  's  plea. 

-Theron  Brown. 


A  Lover  of  Learning 

COLLEGE  fellers!  well,  says  I. 
'F  I  'd  of  hed  a  chance  to  feed 
On  the  stujous  oats  an' — rye 
Which  they  'pear  to  thrive  on — why, 
I  'd  of  beat  'm  all  fer  speed. 

Reckon  never  was  a  man 

Liked  a  book  ez  well  ez  me: 
Why,  I  'd  ruther  set  an'  scan 
Throo  a  page  of  spell  in'  than 

Smoke  er  chew  in  company. 


222  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Suits  me  when  the  candle  's  lit 

An'  the  logs  er  flamln'  high 
Jest  to  dror  the  blind  an'  sit 
Sprawlin',  half-asleep,  an'  yit 

With  the  almanick  clost  by. 

Lor',  the  pack  o'  thruths  thet  lay 
Twixt  them  yeller  kivers ! — jokes 

Thet  ef  I  was  laid  away 

In  a  grave  ud  make  my  clay 
Hoot  an'  howl  like  livin'  folks. 

Stories  too,  an'  hand-signed  bills 

Wrote  by  folks  give  up  to  die 
'Fore  they  heard  o'  Plunkett  's  pills. 
Tell  ye !  them  's  the  things  thet  fills 

Up  your  throat  an'  damps  your  eye 

Makes  me  mighty  shaky-kneed, 

Spellin'  out  the  symptom  list ; 
Nigh  near  every  one  I  read 
Seems  a-growin'  like  a  weed 

In  me,  till  I  fahly  jist 

Git  so  pious  thet  my  ha  'r 

Heaves  on  end  an'  cold  chills  lurch 

Down  my  spine ;  an'  then  1  sw  'ar 

In  a  stumlin'  sort  o'  pray  'r 
Thet  I  'low  to  go  to  church 

Oftener  an'  what  I  've  went 

Late  years — ef  I  'm  spared  from  dyin' 
Spite  of  all  the  ailments  pent 
Up  in  my  old  hide.     They  're  sent 
Mebby  jest  for  sancterfyin'. 

— Eva  Wilder  McGlasson 


SIR  MEDICUS   CHALLENGED  223 


Sir  Medicus  Challenged 

'HAT  skilled  physician  owns  the  art 
^  /  To  heal  the  hurt  done  to  my  heart 

By  Daphne,  mischief  of  Diana's  train, 
fQ)\     Who  wickedly  doth  joy  her  in  my  pain  ? 

She  twits  my  tears,  she  scouts  my  sighs — - 

0  !  would  some  healer  improvise 
A  herbal  charm  from  Daphne's  laurel  leaf, 
A  philter  that  might  drive  away  my  grief ! 

In  this  rare  philter  there  should  be 

My  Daphne's  maddening  mockery. 
The  glint  of  all  her  swirling  burnished  hair, 
The  perfume  thralling  of  her  presence  rare, 

The  glory  of  red  mocking  lips 

That  wound  the  swain  their  dew  who  sips, 
The  bloom  of  blushes  on  her  marble  flesh 
When  love-thoughts  force  her  blood  beyond  Its  mesh, 

The  spice  of  all  her  merry  taunts 

When  she  my  rival's  favors  flaunts. 
All,  all  that  bitter  is  or  fatal-sweet 
In  Daphne — all  should  in  this  philter  meet! 

Sir  Medicus,  have  you  the  skill 

This  prescript  difficult  to  fill? 
Have  you  e  'er  learned  the  all  of  healing  arts, 
The  trick  of  curing  Cupid's  wounds  in  hearts  ? 

Because  of  Daphne's  ways  I  ail 

And  wander  earth  forlorn  and  pale. 
And  I  would  have  your  aid  to  make  me  well, 
To  make  me  proof  against  her  wounding  spell ! 

What  alkaloid  have  you  to  pit 

Against  the  germ  in  Daphne's  wit. 
Which  poisons  me  with  sad,  yet  sweet,  unrest 
And  grows  to  flaming  fever  in  my  breast? 


224  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Have  you  a  lymph  to  immunize 

My  heart  against  my  Daphne's  eyes? 
Alas!  Sir  Medicus,  I  greatly  fear 
Your  vaunted  skill  is  wholly  helpless  here, 

And  that  your  drugs  nor  kill  nor  cure ! 

Ah  well  1     One  other  aid  is  sure : 
Adieu.  Sir  Medicus  1     Here  have  your  pay- 
King  Hymen's  torch  shall  fire  my  ills  away ! 

— H.  A.  Van  Fredenberg. 


The  Water  of  Gold 

UY— who  '11  buy?  "     In  the  market-place, 
Out  of  the  market  din  and  clatter, 

The  quack,  with  his  puckered,  persuasive  face, 
Patters  away  in  the  ancient  patter. 


"  Buy — who  '11  buy?     In  this  flask  I  hold — 

In  this  little  flask  that  I  tap  with  my  stick,  sir- 
Is  the  famed,  infallible  Water  of  Gold — 
The  one,  original,  true  elixir! 

<<  Buy — who  '11  buy?    There  's  a  maiden  there- 
She  with  the  ell-long  flaxen  tresses- 
Here  is  a  draught  that  will  make  you  fair, 
Fit  for  an  emperor's  own  caresses ! 

..  Buy— who  '11  buy?     Are  you  old  and  gray? 

Drink  but  of  this,  and  in  less  than  a  minute, 
Lo !  you  will  dance  like  the  flowers  in  May, 

Chirp  and  chirp  like  a  new-fledged  linnet ! 

"  Buy — who  '11  buy  ?     Is  a  baby  ill  ? 

Drop  but  a  drop  of  this  in  his  throttle, 
Straight  he  will  gossip  and  gorge  his  fill, 

Brisk  as  a  burgher  over  a  bottle  I 


AUDI  ALTERAM  PARTEM  225 

"Here  is  wealth  for  your  life — if  you  will  but  ask ; 

Here  is  health  for  your  limb,  without  lint  or  lotion ; 
Here  is  all  that  you  lack,  in  this  tiny  flask ; 

And  the  price  is  a  couple  of  silver  groschen ! 

"  Buy — who  '11  buy  ?  "     So  the  tale  runs  on, 
And  still  in  the  great  world  's  market-places 

The  Quack,  with  his  quack  catholicon. 
Finds  ever  his  crowd  of  upturned  faces; 

For  he  plays  on  our  hearts  with  his  pipe  and  drum, 

On  our  vague  regret,  on  our  weary  yearning ; 
For  he  sells  the  thing  that  never  can  come, 
Or  the  thing  that  has  vanished,  past  returning. 

— Austin  Dobson. 


Audi  Alteram  Partem 

WHEN   quacks,  as  quacks  may  by  good   luck,  to 
be  sure, 
Blunder  out  at  haphazard  a  desperate  cure. 
In  the  prints  of  the  day,  with  due  pomp  and  parade. 
Case,  patient,  and  doctor  are  amply  displayed. 

All  this  is  quite  just — and  no  mortal  can  blame  it; 

If  they  can  save  a  man's  life,  they  've  a  right  to  pro- 

claln  it ; 
But  there  's    reason  to   think  they  might  save    more 

lives  still. 
Did  they  publish  a  list  of  the  numbers  they  kill! 

— Samuel  Bishop. 

5—16 


226  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


On  Dr.  Cheyne,  the  Vegetarian 


*ELL  me  from  whom,  fat-headed  Scot, 
Thou  didst  thy  system  learn ; 
From  Hippocrates  thou  hadst  it  not. 
Nor  Celsus,  nor  Pitcairn. 


Suppose  we  own  that  milk  is  good, 

And  say  the  same  of  grass ; 
The  one  for  babes  is  only  food, 

The  other  for  an  ass. 

Doctor !  our  new  prescription  try 

(A  friend's  advice  forgive); 
Eat  grass,  reduce  thyself,  and  die  ; — 

Thy  patients  then  may  live. 

— Dr.  Andrew  Wynter. 


To  Dr.  Wynter 

MY  system.  Doctor,  is  my  own, 
No  tutor  I  pretend ; — 
My  blunders  hurt  myself  alone. 
But  yours  your  dearest  friend. 

Were  you  to  milk  and  straw  confined. 

Thrice  happy  might  you  be  ; 
Perhaps  you  might  regain  your  mind. 

And  from  your  wit  get  free. 

1  can 't  your  kind  prescription  try. 

But,  heartily  forgive ; 
'Tis  nat  'ral  you  should  bid  me  die. 

That  you  yourself  may  live. 

— Dr.  John  Cheyne. 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  227 


De  Arte  Medendi 


\ 


T^HRO'  long  millenial  years  our  world  has  swung, 
1  ^  And  gloomy  Death,  with  iron  hand  and  tongue 

Man's  grave  has  digged,  and  doleful  requiem  sung- 

.     "  Earth  unto  earth,"  "  dust  back  again  to  dust." 
The  evil  man,  the  good,  the  wise,  the  just. 
The  tottering  child  of  age,  the  babe  at  birth, 
Must  find  alike  their  rest  in  Mother  Earth. 
Death  reigns,  not  only  in  her  caves  of  gloom  and  night, 
But  thro'  her  open  valleys,  fair  and  bright, 
For  fount  of  endless  youth  not  yet  is  found 
Amid  her  rocks,  or  dells  with  flowers  crowned. 

Wise  yEschylus,  two  thousand  years  agone, 

Spoke  the  one  truth  this  world  has  ever  known: 

"  Death  only  of  the  Gods  cares  not  for  gifts ; 

For  him  no  altar  sacrifice  uplifts. 

Nor  hymn  of  praise  from  mortal  lips  ascends, 

Since  sweet  Persuasion  ne  'er  before  him  bends." 

And  Seneca,  while  speaking  of  the  dead 

In  Christ's  own  century,  sublimely  said : 

*'  There  's  no  one  but  can  snatch  man's  life  away. 

But  none  from  man  grim  death  can  turn  or  stay ; 

A  thousand  gates  stand  open  wide  that  way." 

And  so,  the  wail  of  pestilential  woes 
That  in  the  early  ages  first  arose. 
Sweeps  on  in  chorus  pitiful  and  low, 
Humanity's  sad  wail,  as  on  its  echoes  go. 
That  man  is  not  immortal  here  below  1 
Afar  in  Egjrpt,  men's  strong  love  essayed 
Death's  crumbling  power  to  check,  if  not  evade. 
And  by  embalming  arts,  whose  secret  lay 
Hid  with  the  generations  of  their  day. 


228  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

They  sought  to  hold  the  body  from  decay 

Till  back  the  spirit  came  in  some  far  distant  day; 

While  0  'er  their  mummied  forms  with  wondrous  skill 

They  piled  the  caverened  pyramids,  which  still 

Hold  fast  the  blackened  visages  of  kings 

Behind  the  symbol  of  expanded  wings, 

And  other  strange  and  hieroglyphic  things 

That  hint  of  far  off  flights  for  those  hence  flown 

Within  the  limitless  and  deep  unknown. 

Yet  they,  who  with  the  surgeon's  skillful  knife 

Opened  the  veins  thro'  which  this  fancied  life 

(Steeped  in  sweet  spices,  frankincense  and  wine) 

Was  well  embalmed,  fled  from  the  temple's  shrine 

With  curses  hot  pursued  and  showers  of  stone 

For  thus  profaning  Egypt's  flesh  and  bone  ; 

While  down  amid  the  lowest  depths  of  caste, 

These  early  surgeons  of  the  world  were  past 

The  priestly  superstitions  of  the  time. 

As  often  since  in  many  another  clime, 

Held  struggling  Science  then  in  iron  fetters  fast. 

And  so  in  later  Greece  the  same  stern  rule 
Still  held  its  sway  in  every  new-born  school ; 
Though  Homer,  in  his  ancient  battle-song, 
Sings  of  the  healer's  deeds  in  war's  wild  throng. 
And  says  in  words  we  here  may  quote  again, 

"  A  HEALER  'S  WORTH  A  HUNDRED  OTHER  MEN  ;  " 

Yet  brave  Hippocrates,  whose  heart  was  fired 

And  with  Humanity's  own  love  inspired, 

Though  by  the  laws  dissection  of  his  kind 

Was  contraband,  with  penalties  assigned. 

Discounted  Darwin  and  the  Law's  red  tape 

By  keen  dissection  of  th'  ancestral  ape. 

And  so  began  the  myst  'ry  to  unfold, 

Of  bones  and  nerves  and  muscles  manifold. 

And  soon  he  hazarded  the  amputation. 

Set  close  the  fracture  and  dislocation, 

Ventured  beneath  the  ribs  with  bloody  blade. 

And  faltered  not,  though  friends  stood  back  dismayed 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  229 

Cauteries,  and  cruel  moxa  with  its  brand. 
And  bandaging  of  wounds  with  gentle  hand, 
Were  so  by  him  in  his  dark  age  displayed, 
That  he  the  coming  centuries  shaped  and  swayed; 
And  so  tonight,  back  on  the  stream  of  time. 
We  send  a  cheer  for  this  Old  Man  Sublime. 

And  Rome  for  full  six  hundred  years  or  more. 

When  her  grand  soldiers  daily  dripped  with  gore. 

Found  no  one  standing  in  her  martial  van 

A  healing  helper  of  poor  stricken  man 

Till  Celsus  rose,  who,  when  the  soldier  bled. 

Stripped  off  the  battered  helmet,  bound  up  the  bruised  head. 

Tied  up  the  ruptured  arteries  with  skill. 

And  left  a  name  the  Ages  cherish  still. 

But  lo !  the  Christian  Star  ascends  the  sky. 
The  world's  Great  Healer  to  the  world  draws  nigh, 
Walks  forth  among  the  smitten  ones  of  Earth, 
And  by  His  deeds  discloses  Heavenly  birth. 
He  healed  the  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind, 
And  "  cast  out  devils"  from  the  shattered  mind; 
Bade  trembling  palsy  from  the  limbs  be  gone, 
Made  straight  the  withered  arm  and  shrunken  bone. 
And  from  foul  Leprosy's  infected  cave 
Forth  drew  the  men  accursed,  and  cleansing  gave ; 
Then,  reaching  down  the  grave,  all  dark  and  cold. 
He  snatched  his  mouldering  friend  from   Death's  strong- 
hold. 
And  Ages  still  stand  awed  at  deed  so  bold. 
His  skill  we  see,  but  whence  His  mighty  power 
We  know  not  yet,  e  'en  in  Earth's  latest  hour ; 
Save  that  He  seemed  all  Nature's  laws  to  know, 
And  how  to  turn  their  currents'  mystic  flow 
Along  the  burdened  body's  crippled  form, 
And  lift  the  sick  to  health, 
With  all  its  joyous  wealth. 
The  sleeping  dead  to  life,  all  fresh  and  warm. 
Himself,  He  humbly  styled,  "The  Son  of  Man ;  " 
Yet,  King  of  Life  was  He,  ere  yet  the  world  began. 


230  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Oh.  for  the  day!     Say,  shall  it  ever  be 

This  side  the  fathomless  eternity, 

That  Nature's  kingdom  with  her  hidden  laws 

And  all  their  power  with  every  secret  cause 

And  every  undeveloped  latent  force, 

In  knowledge  ample,  from  their  buried  source 

Shall  be  revealed  to  scientific  scan, 

As  once  they  were  to  His,  this  "  Son  of  Man?  " 

But  with  His  Star's  approach,  as  by  a  spell. 

From  off  the  feet  of  Truth  the  fetters  fell ; 

And  onward,  onward  she  was  bade  to  go, 

Walking  divinely,  all  the  wide  world  thro'. 

And  soon  fair  Science,  creeping  from  her  hold, 

Grew  daily  more  inquisitive  and  bold ; 

And  though  the  early  church  still  frowned  the  while, 

And  vain  Astrology  came  with  her  smile. 

Still  did  "  the  healers  "  slowly  press  their  way, 

And  gather  wisdom  with  each  new-born  day, 

Till  Alchemy  and  all  her  magic  arts 

And  martyr-relics  from  the  Church's  marts 

And  senseless  nostrums  vanished  to  the  night. 

As  to  the  front  came  Science  in  her  might. 

And  as  the  schools  arise  on  Europe's  plains, 

Fair  Science,  calmly  entering  there,  explains 

To  those  who  turn  on  her  their  wondering  eyes 

The  secrets  of  her  new-born  mysteries. 

Arabia  trims  her  golden  lamps  to  shine  ; 

Then  Spain,  and  France,  and  Italy  conjoin 

To  throw  their  light  far  out  upon  the  world. 

And  over  land  and  over  sea  'tis  whirled, 

Till  grand  old  England's  towers  reflect  its  beams 

And  a  new  glory  on  her  banner  gleams. 

Rudely  at  first  the  surgeon  there  appeared, 
As  we  behold  him  sketched  and  high  upreared 
By  poet — first  in  England's  royal  line — 
Good  Master  Chaucer,  full  of  wit  and  wine. 
Who  more  than  full  five  hundred  years  ago. 
When  poetry  was  in  its  vernal  glow. 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  231 

Paints  in  his  "  Pilgrinns,"  the  doctor  of  his  time; — 
Hark  how  he  gives  it  in  his  rought  old  rhyme* 

And  now,  a  half  millenium  of  years, 

I  light  me  down  this  world  of  dust  and  tears, 

And  halt  in  humble  village  of  my  birth, 

Where  gaily  sped  my  early  years  of  mirth ; 

Full  fifty  years  (or  thereabouts)  ago, 

We  had  a  doctor  there — right  well  1  know, 

For  unto  him  my  debut  into  life  I  owe. 

How  shall  I  sketch  this  lofty,  stern  old  man, 

Who  handled  these  first  years  when  life  began  i* 

Severe  of  manner,  tall,  and  dressed  in  black, 

Methodical  as  Greeley's  almanack, 

A  watch  chain  pendant,  with  red  cornelian  key. 

That  shone  (as  oft  it  dangled  down  his  knee) , 

Like  Mars  on  lonely  Midnight's  dusky  dress, 

Or  phosphorescent  light  in  wilderness — 

And  Phebus!  what  a  hideous,  druggy  smell 

Within  his  garments  there  was  wont  to  dwell  I 

A  small  apothecary  shop  I  'm  sure 

Was  hidden  there;  enough  "  to  kill  or  cure." 

I  smell  it  yet  through  all  this  lapse  of  years, 

Though  then  I  smelt  it  generally  with  tears. 

For  whatsoe  'er  our  ailments  chanced  to  be, 

"  Calomel  and  jalap  "  was  the  remedy — 

Though  why  this  union  I  could  never  see. 

For  if  the  cal  'mel  was  to  stay  all  down. 

And  work  that  fearful  purpose,  all  its  own. 

Why  put  the  nauseous  jalap  in  the  cup, 

When  that  was  bound  straightway  to  bring  it  up? 

And  were  there  time,  I  believe,  I  'd  almost  dare 

To  put  this  same  conundrum  to  the  Chair ; 

And  also  this  :    Why  was  this  doctor  always  prone 

To  bleed  us  ever  on  the  ankle  bone. 

And  in  the  arm,  when  we  were  older  grown? 

And  ample  proof  have  I  for  all  I  say ; 

His  scars  I  carry  still, 

•See  Page  130. 


232  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  doubtless  will, 

Down  to  my  dying  day. 

I  feel  a  faintness  now,  as  I  recall 

The  bowl,  the  lance,  the  spurt  upon  the  wall. 

The  ribbon-bandage  and  that  sickening  sense  of  woe 

That  slowly  crept  my  wounded  system  through, 

And  seemed  to  spread  through  every  plaintive  toe. 

Since  naught  like  this,  today  our  boys  befall, 

I  wonder  why  'twas  ever  done  at  all : 

As  boys  we  thought  it  (and  'twas  no  mean  guess) 

The  very  "  mystery  of  ungodliness !  " 

And  yet  this  same  old  man  was  kind  and  good. 

I  see  him  now,  as  more  than  once  he  stood 

Within  the  heavy-curtained,  silent  room, 

Laden  with  pure  Farina's  choice  perfume. 

And  drew  aside  the  damask  hangings  round  the  bed. 

To  show  a  little  black-haired  sleepy  head 

That  lay  beneath  our  wearied  mother's  eye, 

Who  smiled  upon  us  with  a  tender  sigh. 

As  kissing  each  upon  his  forehead  bowed, 

She  whispered  through  her  lace's  snowy  cloud, 

"  The  Doctor,  boys,  last  night  a  present  brought. 

Which  he  somewhere  among  the  roses  caught, 

A  little  brother  for  you — now  each  one  come 

And  kiss  him  welcome  to  our  own  dear  home." 

Oh,  sainted  mother,  dear  mothers  of  us  all. 

As  we  in  manly  years  your  pangs  recall, 

Your  patient  feebleness,  your  loving  smile. 

While  near  to  Death's  dark  door  ye  lay  the  while. 

We  thank  the  healer  who  stood  sentinel, 

And  checked  the  tolling  of  the  passing  knell. 

And  spared  thee  till  thy  work  with  us  was  done ; — 

But  now  that  ye  afar  to  Heaven  have  flown, 

And  into  holy  angel  forms  have  grown. 

Look  down  this  night  on  each  surviving  son  ; 

Look  down  in  love — and  bless  us  every  one ! 

But  here  we  turn  the  Past's  dull,  dingy  page 
And  stand  illumined  in  the  present  age. 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  233 

What  glories  now  does  happy  Science  pour 

Around  the  doctor's  path  and  crowded  door ! 

Behold  the  learned  doctor  of  today ! 

Versed  in  all  knowledge  of  those  schools  that  sway 

The  modern  mind  in  Learning's  crowded  way. 

The  telephone  hangs  in  his  open  hall, 

Through  which  he  promptly  speaks  to  those  who  call 

From  towns  a  hundred  miles  and  more  away, 

Prescribing  pills  and  potions  for  the  day, 

And  diagnosing  distant  babes  with  croup, 

By  wheezings  heard  on  telephonic  loop, 

"  Use  iodide  potasse,  or  glycerine. 

Wet  cloths,  with  streaks  of  goose  grease  laid  between ;  " 

These  are  the  doctor's  words  in  full  direction, 

Then  bangs  the  button  to  cut  off  "  connection  ;  " 

And  turning  to  his  drowsy  wife  in  bed,  he  says, 

"  That  babe  's  all  right ;  they  '11  grease  his  throat  and  head. 

Tomorrow  morning  round  the  floor  he  '11  creep  ; 

God  bless  the  inventors  of  telephones  and  sleep." 

And  what  a  boon  the  modern  doctor  finds 
In  these  new  capsules  of  gum  Arabic  rinds, 
The  sugar  pills— the  little  and  the  big — 
(Though  first  esteemed  a  little  "infra  dig.") 
On  ancient  styles  of  dose  had  got  the  rig ; 
And  tramps  who  cure  incurable  disease, 
In  order  all  their  customers  to  please, 
Put  up  bread  v/ads,  and  many  such  like  simples 
In  this  shrewd  form  of  sugar-coated  pimples. 
And  so  cod  liver  oil,  and  oil  of  castor 
(So  often  followed  with  a  swift  disaster) 
And  ipecac,  and  jalap  in  a  spoon. 
Mixed  up  with  currant  jelly,  jam  or  prune. 
Were  straight  adjudged  unfit  for  gentle  throats. 
As  assafoetida,  or  hickr  'y  pickr  'y  roots ; 
When,  just  in  time  these  ancient  drugs  to  save. 
The  capsule  man  appeared  and  kindly  gave 
This  armor  gelatine  today  we  see. 
And  Dr.  Bolus  now  stands  cap-a-pie  ! 


234  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Why  now  a  dozen  doses  sly  are  hid 

Within  this  little  shell  with  gummy  lid, 

And  one  of  good  fat  size  might  carry  down 

Med  'cine  enough  to  cure  a  country  town. 

Farewell  the  stormy  strife  with  boy  and  spoon, 

The  mother's  peace  has  come,  and  not  a  day  too  soon ; 

For  if  a  boy  was  ere  inclined  to  swear, 

And  pull  his  loving  mother  by  the  hair, 

'Twas  when  she  poured  down  his  reluctant  throat 

Those  drug-shop  horrors,  on  which  the  doctor  wrote. 

With  cabalistic  marks  some  scrawl  like  this : 

"  Signa;  misce  aquis  pluvialis, 

Et  rec  'pe  cochl.  mag.  alternis  horis  ; 

Sed  dum  precatus,  bene  quassatus." 

But  all  the  same,  what  ere  the  learned  note. 

The  mix  was  sure  to  prove  both  bane  and  antidote. 

And  then  what  wonders  now  our  eyes  behold  ! 

Strange  mechanisms,  of  curious  shape  and  mould, 

That  fill  the  fancy  druggists'  showcase  bright. 

And  set  our  brains  all  swimming  at  the  sight, 

The  various  sorts  and  kinds  of  microscope, 

Ophthalmo,  otoscope,  and  stethoscope. 

And  scopes  for  every  organ  known  to  man. 

And  twisted  tubes,  and  globes  on  every  plan, 

With  strange  injecting  and  expelling  pumps, 

And  artificial  limbs  with  cushioned  stumps. 

And  ivory  pipes  and  gutta  percha  rings, 

And,  as  Hans  Breitman  says,  "  all  various  kinds  of  dings. 

Such  things  as  no  one  but  a  surgeon  knows, 

With  names  as  long  as  cross-barred  Highland  hose. — 

I  wonder  if  these  doctors,  "just  for  fun," 

Don  't  sometimes,  when  their  working  day  is  done. 

Take  hold  and  with  the  very  best  intent 

Full  "diagnose  "  each  curious  instrument. 

I  'm  sure  the  laymen  would  like  well  to  see 

The  learned  ones  of  this  fraternity 

Take  earnest  hold  of  each  and  every  one. 

And  in  succession  bravely  "  try  them  on," 

That  so,  as  back  they  laid  them  on  the  shelf 

Each  man  would  know  "just  how  it  was  himself.' 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  23S 

But  time  forbids  that  we  should  longer  stay 

In  pointing  out  these  wonders  of  today ; 

And  yet  there  gleams,  the  wonder  of  them  all, 

Bright  as  the  sunny  sea  round  Ocean's  wall, 

Mercy  descending  as  an  angel  fair, 

With  smiles  as  soft  as  Summer's  gentle  air, 

To  check  and  soothe  Humanity's  wild  pain 

And  lull  the  tortured  nerves  to  sleep  again. 

Oh,  Anassthesia!  stern  Surgery's  fair  saint. 

Still  hear  our  smitten  Earth's  distressful  plaint, 

And  come,  come  ever  to  the  patient's  bed, 

And  sway  thy  magic  wand,  and  downward  shed 

Thy  gentle,  drowsy  dew  with  Lethe's  stream, 

And  list  and  bear  away  the  sufferer  in  a  dream — 

While  Surgery's  sharp  blade  goes  flashing  down 

To  regions  where  abnormal  roots  have  grown, 

And  lapped  and  wrapt  with  cords  both  flesh  and  bone. 

See  yon  sad  woman,  trembling,  pale  and  weak. 

Though  now  a  blush  comes  creeping  o  'er  her  cheek, 

As  modestly  she  draws  her  dress  aside 

And  yields  the  surgeon  what  she  fain  would  hide, 

Her  bosom  fair,  the  source  in  years  far  flown 

Of  loving  life  to  children  nov/  upgrown  ; 

Their  bright  young  mother's  flowing  breast. 

Where  oft  she  pillowed  their  frail  heads  to  rest ! 

(Alas,  that  such  dread  things  should  ever  be), 

But  there  the  keen- eyed  surgeons  quickly  see 

The  devil-plant  has  lodged,  and  vainly  tried 

Its  cursed  sprouts  and  tentacles  to  hide 

In  what  was  once  that  gentle  woman's  pride  ! 

She  nerves  her  trembling  spirit  for  the  strife 

And  bloody  struggle  of  the  cruel  knife, 

Lifts  up  a  prayer  to  those  she  loves  in  Heaven, 

That  strength  to  her  may  in  this  hour  be  given ; 

When  lo  !  sweet  Anaesthesia  appears, 

Checks  the  wild  tumult  of  her  fears, 

And  with  a  loving  hand  restrains  her  tears, 

"  For  pity  runneth  soon  in  gentle  heart," 

And  with  a  sister's  sorrow  bears  a  part. 


236  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

She  speaks,  reminding  her  of  earlier  days, 

When  she  was  struggling  in  that  dizzy  maze 

Wherein  brave  woman,  though  by  torture  torn. 

Rejoices  that  her  strong  man-child  is  born ; 

And  how  she  once  had  safely  led  her  through 

That  demon-like,  convulsive  fever  throe, 

And  anchored  her  when  all  the  storm  was  past 

Within  love's  arms,  by  Home's  own  cable  fast; — 

Then  bids  her  rise  and  with  her  fly  afar 

In  winged  journey  to  some  distant  star. 

While  the  good  surgeon,  does  "what  he  thinks  best;" 

Then  back  again  to  sweet  release  and  rest ! 

She  yields ;  and  Anaesthesia's  kerchief  white 

Drops  0  'er  her  face,  and  now  she  's  on  her  flight. 

While  the  bright  knife,  with  busy  whirl  and  flash, 

Runs  its  wild  round,  with  bloody  thrust  and  gash, 

And  lo  I    'tis  done  ! 

The  demon-plant  is  gone  ! 

And  not  a  scream,  or  agonizing  groan, 

Escaped  the  sleeping  form,  all  strapped  and  prone. 

No,  not  one  troubled  sigh  or  moan  1 

And  as  the  wandering  women  earthward  come, 

Softly  descending  from  the  starry  dome, 

They  meet  the  smiling  surgeon's  "  welcome  home !  " 

God  bless  the  doctor,  who  can  smile  away 

The  patient's  tears ;  and  kindly  to  her  say, 

"  'Tis  over  now !     I  pray  you  do  not  weep, 

But  lay  you  down,  and  drop  way  to  sleep." 

"Good  deeds  thro|  heaven,"  'tis  said,  "ring  clear,  like  bells. 

And  word  Is  deed,  when  it  dark  fear  dispels. 

And  soothing  words  like  these  fall  soft  and  sweet. 

When  they  poor,  wounded,  trembling  woman  greet; 

Sweet  as  the  dew  from  Heaven's  own  crystal  urns. 

And  happy  he,  who  their  full  benedictions  earns  1 

For  life  is  sweet  to  those  who  love  and  are  beloved. 

Death  welcomed  only  when  Life's  loves  are  all  removed. 

Nor  does  this  saint  yield  only  to  the  call 

Of  those  who  dwell  in  lordly  grounds  and  hall ; 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  237 

She  follows  marching  armies  to  the  field, 

And  bears  the  wounded  soldiers  on  her  shield 

From  out  the  battles'  roaring  storm  and  flood 

To  some  rude  hut  or  overshadowing  wood. 

Where  the  Green  Sash  essays  to  stay  the  tide 

That  flows  from  wounds,  the  Red  Sash  opened  wide. 

Brave  are  the  heroes,  girt  with  sash  of  red, 

Who  in  the  battle  oft  find  bloody  bed. 

But  brave  as  any  such  that  e  'er  were  seen 

Are  they  who  serve  beneath  the  sash  of  green ; 

Who  take  war's  holocaust  within  their  tent, 

And  there,  with  tourniquet  and  instrument. 

And  lotion,  lint,  and  liniment, 

Staunch  the  life-flow  from  shattered  trunk  or  limb 

And  put  on  lips  of  dying  men  a  hymn — 

A  hymn  of  praise  for  life  ;  when  all  was  dark, 

And  scarcely  visible  the  vital  spark 

Within  the  sinking  soldier's  drooping  eye. 

Whose  prayer  was  only  that  he  "  quickly  die." 

But  there  the  surgeon  and  assistants  stand, 

A  pile  of  severed  limbs  on  either  hand  : 

And  Anassthesia,  ever  at  their  side 

To  check  the  pain,  and  staunch  the  purple  tide 

Of  those  who  lay  beneath  the  surgeon's  knife, 

And  look  to  him  and  her  alone  for  life. 

Oh,  well  for  them  that  she  is  on  the  field. 

Or  they  of  shattering  wounds  would  ne  'er  be  healed ; 

Well  for  the  hospitals  of  war  and  peace, 

For  war  and  pestilence  will  never  cease ; 

Well  for  the  world  at  large  that  she  appears. 

And  every  suffering  mortal  soothes  and  cheers. 

Reviving  hope  and  dissipating  fear ; 

A  thousand  thanks  to  those  who  brought  her  here ! 

Such  names  as  Warren,  Jackson,  Morton,  Wells, 

Will  live  as  long  as  suffering  manhood  dwells 

Within  this  weary  world  of  death  and  funeral  knells. 

And  now,  young  scientists,  to  you  1  turn. 
Well  knowing  how  your  youthful  spirits  burn 


238  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

To  pluck  the  laurel  wreath  that  somewhere  blooms 

Adown  the  track  of  time,  but  not  yet  looms 

Within  your  far-off  telescopic  range 

Of  things  unborn,  the  curious  and  strange 

Which  future  years  hold  fast  and  unrevealed. 

Till  you  yourselves  the  casket  have  unsealed. 

Your  oath  this  night,  as  solemnly  it  fell 

Before  this  cloud  of  witnesses,  keep  well ; 

Keep  bravely  well,  with  all  your  mind  and  strength, 

In  all  its  parts,  through  all  its  breadth  and  length ; 

And  shield  not  only  sacred  motherhood, 

But  helpless,  unborn  life,  from  deeds  of  blood, 

As  you  would  shield  a  gentle  sister's  life. 

Or  guard  a  brother  from  the  assassin's  knife ; 

And  ever  let  the  voiceless  babe  still  find 

In  you,  the  God-appointed  savior  of  its  kind. 

At  Learning's  shrine  still  bend  the  reverent  knee. 

Disciples  now  ye  are,  and  long  must  be, 

Children  forever  in  Wisdom's  nursery; 

For  so  it  is  with  all  who  fain  would  find 

The  mighty  mysteries  of  her  mighty  mind. 

Yet  this  you  know,  as  we  have  seen  tonight. 

The  Past's  great  tidal  wave  in  power  and  might 

Is  here  and  bears  you  off  in  its  embrace 

To  those  fair  hills  crowned  with  her  temples'  grace  ; 

A  new  horizon  breaking  on  your  view. 

Wide  as  the  one  which  on  Columbus  grew, 

As  near  our  shores  his  storm-tost  shallop  drew. 

What,  let  me  ask  you,  can  you  yet  make  plain 

Of  that  dark  mystery,  the  silent  brain, 

Whose  corrugated,  complicated  folds 

In  some  strange  way  our  active  life  upholds. 

Yet  answers  not  to  surgeon's  knife  or  probe. 

Though  deep  he  thrust  them  through  each  pulseless  lobe  ? 

Were  I  a  painter  or  a  sculptor  true, 

I  know  a  subject  I  should  lift  to  view ; 

The  student,  in  the  dark  dissecting  room 

Alone  within  the  candle-lighted  gloom, 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  239 

Pondering  above  some  fellow  mortal's  brain, 

In  earnest  search  to  find  that  subtle  chain 

Which,  catching  Life's  bright  spark  from  out  the  sky 

And  thrilling  it  through  pulse  and  artery, 

Kindles  to  smiles  young  beauty's  lovely  face, 

Braces  the  athlete  for  his  panting  race, 

Wakes  in  its  strength  the  statemen's  mighty  power, 

Or  poet's  harp,  in  his  inspired  hour ; 

Gives  man  not  only  life,  but  thoughtful  soul, 

Till  the  last  hour,  when  breaks  the  golden  bowl. 

And  God's  eternal  silence  settles  o  'er  the  whole  ! 

There  stands  the  student,  pondering,  pondering  still ; 

How  long  think  you  before  my  statue  will 

Give  place  to  him,  who  glad  "  Eureka  "  cries, 

And  solves  this  riddle  of  the  earth  and  skies  ? 

But  you,  who  through  your  coming  life  must  stand 

And  labor  in  this  shadowy  borderland. 

Have  this  and  other  themes  to  tax  your  thought, 

As  on  you  toil,  and  labor  in  your  lot. 

The  chemist's  world  behold!  how  wide  its  range. 

With  combinations  endless  in  their  change. 

That  drop  their  new  results  with  every  day, 

To  help  poor  sufferers  on  their  weary  way. 

And  show  the  miner  how  to  draw  the  gold 

Hid  in  the  mountains  from  the  days  of  old, 

And  drag  the  murderer  to  scaffold  stand 

By  tracking  poison  to  his  cruel  hand. 

'Twas  by  her  flashing  arrows,  deftly  sped, 

That  grim  Astrology  fell  with  the  dead. 

With  all  her  quips  and  quirks,  and  skulls  and  bones ; — 

And  of  her  famous  "philosophic  stones," 

The  only  one  that  Modern  Science  knows. 

Or  over  which  a  single  thought  bestows. 

Is  that  gray  granite  stone  at  her  grave's  head ; 

Of  her,  "  Hic  jacet,"  is  the  best  word  ever  said. 

And  yonder  floral  world  In  dewy  bloom, 
That  flings  on  every  breeze  its  rich  perfume. 
Invites  you  to  her  many  buds  and  flowers ; 


240  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  by  the  aid  of  Chemistry's  rare  powers 

Bids  you  distill 

Whate  'er  you  will 

Of  balm  or  poison  from  her  rosy  bowers  ; 

The  gates  of  this  new  world  just  now  expand, 

Go  enter  in,  possess  the  golden  land  ; 

Your  Medica  Materia  enrich, 

With  no  Shakespearean  stew  of  hell-born  witch, 

But  medications  rare,  and  well  refined. 

To  soothe  the  body  and  compose  the  mind ; 

Perchance  some  plant  may  bring  to  you  a  cure 

For  all  the  woes 

And  all  those  torturing  throes 

That  Alcohol's  and  Opium's  slaves  endure ! 

These  we  expect  through  Chemistry's  high  art, 

And  in  it  you  should  bear  a  noble  part. 

For  wealth  untold  in  Nature's  bosom  lies, 

If  only  sought  with  cunning  hand  and  eyes. 

And  though  in  grand  old  Job's  poetic  book 

(On  which  no  eye  irreverent  can  look) 

We  read  those  startling  questions  put  to  man, 

"  Declare!  where  wast  thou  when  this  fair  world  began? 

Have  Death's  grim  gates  been  opened  unto  thee  ? 

Hast  thou  e  'er  entered  the  deep  springs  of  the  sea? 

Or  in  thy  hands  the  glorious  day-spring  held? 

Or  all  the  gloomy  doors  of  death  beheld  ? 

Hast  thou  perceived  the  dwelling  of  the  light? 

Or  found  the  home  of  darkness  and  the  night? 

Can  'st  thou  the  influence  sweet  of  Pleiades  ere  bind  ? 

Or  cast  Orion's  bands  upon  the  wind? 

Know'st  thou  where  Heaven's  high  ordinance  had  birth? 

Can  'st  set  dominion  to  it  from  the  earth  ? 

Or  lift  thy  voice  up  to  the  clouds  of  rain. 

And  call  down  waters  to  the  thirsty  plain? 

When  all  the  morning  stars  together  sang, 

And  Sons  of  God  their  lofty  chorus  rang, 

Gird  up  thy  loins,  and  answer  if  thou  can, 

Where  wast  thou  then,  0  trembling  son  of  man?  " 


DE  ARTE  MEDENDI  241 

Yet  still,  frail  man,  in  searching  out  Earth's  mystery 

In  which  lies  hid  his  own  high  destiny, 

Has  boldy  pushed  keen  Reason's  eye  afar ; 

Far  as  Alcyone,  yon  mystic  star 

That  hangs  a  central  pivot  strong  and  high, 

Round  which  revolving  worlds  go  circling  by. 

Like  blazing  chariots  through  the  starry  plain, 

And  pathless  depths  of  Deity's  domain ; 

But  finds  not  yet  in  all  the  heavenly  zone 

Just  where  the  mighty  God  has  built  His  throne. 

Or  where  the  habitation  called  "His  own  !  " 

But  other  wonders  man  has  yet  to  find. 
Within  that  darker  world,  the  world  of  mind. 
Beyond  whose  cloudy'portals  you  must  go 
With  careful  glance,  and  cautious  steps,  and  slow. 
If  you  its  mysteries  would  solve,  and  know; — 
And  so,  into  that  weird  and  spectral  sphere. 
Where  we  are  told,  our  dead  ones  reappear. 
And  some  stand  wondering,  while  others  jeer. 
We  bid  you  in  your  time,  to  enter  here. 
And  with  fair  Science  and  her  plummet  line, 
Sound  fearlessly  these  depths,  and  bid  light  shine 
Through  all  this  shadowy  land,  that  we  may  see 
If  truth  be  there,  or  only  jugglery. 
This  we  should  know ;  for  if  there  be  a  law 
Which  from  the  facts  unflinching  Truth  may  draw, 
Then  publish  it  to  all  the  earth  abroad, 
Though  creeds  be  shaken  and  old  idols  nod ; 
Truth  cannot  suffer,  for  she's  born  of  God. 

Thus  clad  with  armor  from  beyond  the  skies, 
Go  forth,  as  Adam  went  from  Paradise, 
Forbid  the  tree  of  knowledge — yet  still  intent 
To  make  the  best  of  his  sad  banishment, 
And  through  all  Nature's  wide  expanse, 
To  send  a  keen  and  penetrating  glance, 
That  he  might  know  all  he  had  power  to  find 
In  voiceless  nature,  that  could  bless  mankind. 

6—16 


242  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Be  this  your  purpose  as  you  say  farewell, 

And  pass  beyond  your  Alma  Mater's  bell ; 

Pursue  the  laws  of  Truth,  where  'er  they  lead, 

Though  roads  be  rough,  and  feet  may  sometimes  bleed. 

Though  friends  deride,  and  angry  zealots  plead  ; 

Who  knows  but  Truth  herself.  In  some  near  day. 

May  drop,  with  folded  wing,  along  your  way. 

And  in  your  hand  the  golden  key  of  knowledge  lay. 

Then  struggle  on,  and  on,  with  all  the  zeal  you  can, 
Your  motto,  "  Love  to  God — Love  to  your  fellow-man." 
— Dr.  D.  Bethune  Duffield. 


The  Young  Medic  and  the  Old 

'  "TV  EACON  JONES  was  always  ailing, 
J   lAnd  his  many  aches  bewailing, 
pi  And  old  Doctor  Grampus  failing 

•  — J<®      To  alleviate  his  ills. 

With  his  mind  in  perturbation, 

He  called  in,  for  consultation, 

A  young  Hahnemann  creation, 
Who  was  known  as  "  Little  Pills." 

Little  Pills  was  heavy  loaded. 
And,  by  thirst  for  glory  goaded, 
How  his  rhetoric  exploded. 

When  he  met  the  Doctor  old ! 
But  his  skill  as  rhetorician. 
Held  a  second  rate  position. 
With  this  young  diagnostician. 

And  his  words  were  free  and  bold : 

"  The  patient  has  pleuritis. 
And  a  grave  appendicitis. 
And  an  awful  stomatitis. 
That  may  push  htm  to  the  wall ; 


THE  YOUNG  MEDIC  AND  THE  OLD  243 

While  a  marked  endocarditis, 
And  a  raging  enteritis, 
With  a  touch  of  meningitis, 
Should  be  very  filain  to  all  1 

"  And  I  judge  that  he  is  ailing — 
By  the  way  that  he  is  railing. 
And  his  miseries  bewailing — 

In  a  way  that  is  a  shame ; 
For  his  symptoms  show  metritis. 
And  an  endo-cervicitis. 
With  hysteric  ovaritis — 

Once  my  grandma  had  the  same  I 

"  You  can  see  he  has  colitis. 
And  a  rheumatoid  arthritis, 
And,  to  cure  his  urethritis. 

Will  be  worth  a  pile  of  wealth ! 
And,  with  all  his  ills  and  aching. 
And  his  head  with  palsy  shaking, 
And  his  nervous  system  breaking, 

He  don  't  feel  quite  well,  himself! 

"  There  are  symptoms  of  iritis, 

And  a  virulent  phlebitis. 

And  his  throat  shows  diptheritis, 

As  I  very  plainly  see ; 
In  extremis  I  believe  him, 
And  I  'd  scorn  me  to  deceive  him, 
When  I  say  I  can  relieve  him 

With  a  '  20 '  French  bougee ! 

"Then  the  ninety-ninth  dilution 
Of  a  pellet  in  solution — 
It  will  hasten  resolution, 

In  a  very  wondrous  way ; 
While  the  millionth  trituration 
Of  a  certain  preparation. 
Will  complete  his  restoration, 

At  a  very  early  day." 


M4  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Doctor  Grampus  sat  and  listened, 
In  his  eye  a  tear-drop  glistened — 
First  he  'd  shed  since  he  was  christened — 

Then  he  fainted  quite  away  ; 
But  a  sight  so  very  shocking, 
Didn  't  stop  the  Medic's  talking, 
But  his  tongue  kept  up  tall  walking 

'Til  he  'd  said  his  little  say. 

But,  poor  Deacon  Jones,  enlightened. 
At  his  case  was  badly  frightened. 
For  his  burden  was  not  lightened 

By  this  learned  diatribe  ; 
He  rolled  up  his  eyes  in  sorrow, 
Chilling  to  the  very  nnarrow, 
Whispered,  "Good-bye,  sweet,  tomorrow! 

I  must  die — i "  and  he  died. 

— Dr.  S.  F.  Bennett. 


The  New  Doctor 

(or  the  music  cure.) 

H,  Doctor,  your  hand!     So!     And  now,  as  I 
hold 
This  palm  that  I  value  so  truly, 
.  Here  's  a  bill  for  your  bill,  though  I  warrant  the 
gold 
Cannot  pay  all  my  debt  to  you  duly. 

Yes,  I  need  you  no  longer ;  the  pain  I  endured 

Has  vanished,  I  hope,  now,  forever. 
You  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  the  way  I  was  cured 

By  contracting  a  more  ardent  fever  1 


THE  NEW  DOCTOR  245 

You  have  heard  how  the  women  are  thronging  the  ways 

That  lead  up  to  fame  and  position  ; 
And  I  know  you  will  frown  when  I  join  in  the  praise 

Of  fair  woman  in  guise  of  physician. 

As  I  stopped  by  a  door  one  fine  morning  in  May, 
A  song  through  the  doorway  came  trilling, 

And  down  to  the  core  of  my  heart  made  its  way, 
Like  a  tonic,  both  healing  and  thrilling. 

It  seemed  to  say  !     "  Live  not  for  self  but  for  me, 
And  your  heart  will  beat  easy  hereafter." 

So  she  cured  me  with  song,  and  with  smiles  set  me  free, 
And  such  dear  counter-irritant  laughter ! 

Now,  given  that  one  has  a  palpitant  heart. 

Is  not  a  soft  pressure  pacific  ? 
And,  if  taken  between  meals,  with  delicate  art, 

Are  not  kisses  a  fine  soporific? 

You  said,  once,  my  heart  had  expanded  too  wide ; 

So  I  thought,  as  it  was  over-roomy, 
I  might  as  well  take  a  dear  lady  inside — 

And  'tis  glad  now,  where  once  it  was  gloomy. 

I  wish  that  I  could  but  portray  you  my  prize — 
All  the  grace  of  my  dear  little  singer — 

But  I  stop  in  despair  at  her  beautiful  eyes ! 
No,  I  cannot  describe  her!     I  '11  bring  her! 

Now,  Doctor,  don  't  envy  this  rival  of  yours, 

With  her  pharmacopoeia  of  beauty ; 
Since  her  voice  and   her  eyes  work  such  marvelous 
cures. 
To  love  my  new  doctor  is  duty. 

— Charles  H.  Crandall. 


246  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


The  Doctor's  Wife 


\ 


T^HE  night  was  dark  and  bitter  cold. 
-f       The  wind  across  the  prairie  swept, 
While  I  in  comforts  warm  enrolled 
Snored  softly  on  and  soundly  slept. 


When  suddenly  my  door  bell  rang — 
Infernal  sound !     It  pierced  my  ears. 

As  on  the  creaking  floor  I  sprang, 
My  heart  athrob  with  direst  fears, 

Lest  one  had  come  to  call  me  out 
Into  the  cruel  biting  blast. — 

I  for  my  garments  cast  about 

Wishing  this  night-call  were  my  last. 

But  oh,  the  best  thought  of  my  life! 

'.t  calms  me  now  as  oft  before, 
I  '11  send  my  thoughtful,  faithful  wife 

To  meet  the  stranger  at  the  door. 

She  goes  and  oh,  the  sweetest  lies 
That  ever  mortal  tongue  has  told. 

As  in  her  artless  way  she  tries 
To  say, — that  I  'm  out  in  the  cold. 

"  He  won  't  be  home  till  break  of  day 
And  then  he  '11  come,  poor  tired  man, 

I  'm  awful  sorry  he  's  away. 

He  '11  come  as  promptly  as  he  can." 

I  go  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep, 
I  ponder  long  on  doctor's  wives, 

The  only  ones  who  ever  think 
Of  our  rest-broken,  weary  lives. 


THE  PHYSICIAN'S  HYMN  247 

I  somehow  think  God  don  't  record 

Those  little  white-lies  often  told 
To  give  a  way-worn  doctor  sleep, 

Or  save  him  from  the  winter's  cold. 

And  if  He  does,  I  'm  sure  His  pen 

Writes  very  near,  in  letters  bright, 
A  tender  thought  of  her  who  thinks 

Of  doctors,  toiling  in  the  night. 

—Dr.  W.  J.  Bell. 


The  Physician's  Hymn 

HYSICIAN,  Friend  of  human  kind, 
jWhose  pitying  Love  is  pleased  to  find 

A  cure  for  every  ill ; 
By  Thee  raised  up,  by  Thee  bestowed 
To  do  my  fellow-creatures  good, 
I  come  to  serve  Thy  will. 

I  come  not  like  the  sordid  herd. 
Who,  mad  for  honor  or  reward. 

Abuse  the  healing  art : 
Nor  thirst  of  praise,  nor  lust  of  gain. 
But  kind  concern  at  human  pain, 

And  love  constrains  my  heart. 

On  Thee  I  fix  my  single  eye. 
Thee  only  seek  to  glorify, 

And  make  Thy  goodness  known  ; 
Resolved,  if  Thou  my  labors  bless, 
To  give  Thee  back  my  whole  success. 

To  praise  my  God  alone. 

The  friendly  properties  that  flow 
Through  Nature's  various  works,  I  know 
The  Fountain  whence  they  came  ; 


248  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  every  plant,  and  every  flower 
Medicinal  derives  its  power 
From  Jesus'  balmy  Name. 

Confiding  in  that  Name  alone, 
Jesus,  I  in  Thy  work  go  on, 

To  tend  Thy  sick  and  poor. 
Dispenser  of  Thy  medicines  1 ; 
But  Thou  the  blessing  must  supply. 

But  Thou  must  give  the  cure. 

For  this  I  humbly  wait  on  Thee : 
The  servant  of  Thy  servants  see 

Devoted  to  Thy  will, 
Determined  in  Thy  steps  to  go, 
And  bless  the  sickly  sons  of  woe. 

Who  groan  Thy  help  to  feel. 

Afflicted  by  Thy  gracious  hand. 
They  now  may  justly  all  demand 

My  instrumental  care  : 
Thy  patients.  Lord,  shall  still  be  mine  ; 
And  to  my  weak  attempts  I  join 

My  strong  effectual  prayer. 

0  while  Thou  givest  their  bodies  ease. 
Convince  them  of  their  worst  disease. 

The  sickness  of  the  mind  ; 
And  let  them  groan  by  sin  opprest. 
Till  coming  unto  Thee  for  rest, 

Rest  to  their  souls  they  find. 

With  these  and  every  sin-sick  soul, 

1  come  myself  to  be  made  whole, 

And  wait  the  sovereign  word. 
Thou  canst,  I  know.  Thou  dost  forgive 
But  let  me  without  sinning  live. 

To  perfect  love  restored. 


THE  HOSPITAL  AT  NIGHT  249 

Myself,  alas,  I  cannot  heal; 
But  Thou  shalt  every  seed  expel 

Of  sin  out  of  my  heart, 
Thine  utmost  saving  health  display. 
And  purge  my  inbred  sin  away, 

And  make  me  as  Thou  art. 

Till  then  in  Thy  blest  hands  I  am, 
And  still  in  faith  the  grace  I  claim 

To  all  believers  given. 
Perfect  the  cure  in  me  begun. 
And  when  my  work  on  earth  is  done, 

Receive  me  up  to  heaven. 

— Charles  Wesley. 


The  Hospital  at  Night 

ROOSEVELT,  MIDNIGHT,  APRIL  8tH,    1839 

^  SIT  within  the  long  dim  ward  at  night; 

•7  )       Around  me  silent  beds  or  snores  or  groans, — 

^     Ah !   List  that  prayer  with  anguish  In  its  tones : 

"  O  God,  God,  God  1   How  soon  will  it  be  light !" 
"  Kape  sthill  I  An'  let  usshlape.     Oi  think  yees  moightl" 

A  boy  asleep,  who  smiles,  (with  broken  bones) 
Dreaming  of  mother  or  some  playground  sight. 

Without,  thick  darkness  and  a  wind  that  moans. 

A  rattling  breath,  a  gasp,  a  still,  white  stare, 
A  nurse's  jest:  "  Discharged — tie  up  the  jaw, 
A  label  on  the  wrist  to  save  mistakes." 
The  tramp  of  dead-house  men  of  heedless  air. 
Two  lines  of  lifted  faces  full  of  awe — 
A  sickened  sot,  that  cot  tomorrow  shakes. 

— J.  William  Lloyd. 


250  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Ballade  of  the  Doctor's  Horse 

UT  in  the  mist  of  the  morning  light, 

Threading  the  dusty  thoroughfares  lone, 
(Tirelessly,  plaintlessly,  day  and  night. 

Seeking  the  homes  where  the  ailing  moan, 
Thou  drawest  the  ytsculapian  throne 
That  bears  the  king  with  the  healing  seed 

To  sooth  to  a  sigh  the  pain-forced  groan : 
Ho  for  the  Doctor's  sturdy  old  steed ! 

Rough  is  thy  coat,  but  keen  is  thy  sight. 
Coming  and  going  when  fields  are  sown. 

Jogging  along  when  bloom  is  at  height, 
Sniffing  the  scent  of  the  meadows  mown, 
Patient  when  nipped  by  the  air  snow-flown. 

Each  thought  of  thy  master  thou  dost  read, 
To  thee  each  "  case  "  through  the  rein  Is  shown: 

Ho  for  the  Doctor's  sturdy  old  steed  ! 

Pegasus  bearing  the  Muse  in  flight 

Boasteth  no  glory  over  thine  own. 
Worthy  old  steed,  whose  chiefest  delight 

Lies  in  the  love  in  thy  driver's  tone  ! 

To  rurals  and  urbans  art  thou  known, 
To  humans  of  every  race  and  creed ; 

Far,  far  o'er  the  earth  thy  fame  is  blown : 
Ho  for  the  Doctor's  sturdy  old  steed! 

ENVOI : 

Model  of  merit  for  seer  and  drone. 
When  thou  art  gone,  shall  a  graven  stone 
Tell  from  thy  mound  of  thy  life  and  deed  : 
Ho  for  the  Doctor's  sturdy  old  steed ! 

— Absalom  B.  Salom. 


IN  HOSPITAL  251 


IN  HOSPITAL 


\ 


ENTER  PATIENT 

y   HE  morning  mists  still  haunt  the  stony  street ; 
4>  The  northern  summer  air  is  shrill  and  cold ; 


And  lo,  the  Hospital,  gray,  quiet,  old, 
.     Where  life  and  death  like  friendly  chafferers  meet, 
Through  the  loud  spaciousness  and  draughty  gloom 
A  small,  strange  child — so  aged,  yet  so  young! — 
Her  little  arm  besplinted  and  beslung. 
Precedes  me  gravely  to  the  waiting  room. 
I  limp  behind,  my  confidence  all  gone. 
The  gray-haired  soldier-porter  waves  me  on, 
And  on  I  crawl,  and  still  my  spirits  fail: 
A  tragic  meanness  seems  so  to  environ 
These  corridors  and  stairs  of  stone  and  iron, 
Cold,  naked,  clean — half-workhouse  and  half-jail. 

II 

WAITING 

A  SQUARE,  squat  room  (a  cellar  on  promotion) , 
Drab  to  the  soul,  drab  to  the  very  daylight; 
Plasters  astray  in  unnatural-looking  tinware ; 
Scissors  and  lint  and  apothecary's  jars. 

Here,  on  a  bench  a  skeleton  would  writhe  from, 
Angry  and  sore,  I  wait  to  be  admitted: 
Wait  till  my  heart  is  lead  upon  my  stomach. 
While  at  their  ease  two  dressers  do  their  chores. 


252  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

One  has  a  probe — it  feels  to  me  a  crowbar. 
A  small  boy  sniffs  and  shudders  after  bluestone. 
A  poor  old  tramp  explains  his  poor  old  ulcers 
Life  is  (I  think)  a  blunder  and  a  shame. 

ni 

INTERIOR 

THE  gaunt  brown  walls 
Look  infinite  in  their  decent  meanness. 
There  is  nothing  of  home  in  the  noisy  kettle, 
The  fulsome  fire. 

The  atmosphere 
Suggests  the  haunt  of  a  ghostly  druggist. 
Dressings  and  lint  on  the  long,  lean  table — 

Whom  are  they  for  ? 

The  patients  yawn, 
Or  lie  as  in  training  for  shroud  and  coffin. 
A  nurse  in  the  corridor  scolds  and  wrangles. 

It 's  grim  and  strange. 

Far  footfalls  clank. 
The  bad  burn  waits  with  his  head  unbandaged. 
My  neighbor  chokes  in  the  clutch  of  chloral. 

O  a  gruesome  world  I 

IV 

BEFORE 

BEHOLD  me  waiting — waiting  for  the  knife. 
A  little  while,  and  at  a  leap  I  storm 
The  thick,  sweet  mystery  of  chloroform 
The  drunken  dark,  the  little  death-in-Iife. 
The  gods  are  good  to  me :     I  have  no  wife. 
No  innocent  child,  to  think  of  as  I  near 
The  fateful  minute ;  nothing  ail-too  dear 
Unmans  me  for  my  bout  of  passive  strife. 


IN  HOSPITAL  253 

Yet  am  I  tremulous  and  a  trifle  sick, 

And,  face  to  face  with  chance,  I  shrink  a  little: 

My  hopes  are  strong,  my  will  is  something  weak. 

Here  comes  the  basket?     Thank  you.     I  am  ready. 

But,  gentlemen  my  porters,  life  is  brittle  : 

You  carry  Cassar  and  his  fortunes — steady ! 


OPERATION 

YOU  are  carried  in  a  basket, 
Like  a  carcase  from  the  shambles. 
To  the  theater,  a  cockpit, 
Where  they  stretch  you  on  a  table. 

Then  they  bid  you  close  your  eyelids, 
And  they  mask  you  with  a  napkin. 
And  the  anaesthetic  reaches 
Hot  and  subtle  through  your  being. 

And  you  gasp,  and  reel,  and  shudder 
In  a  rushing,  swaying  rapture, 
While  the  voices  at  your  elbow 
Fade — receding — fainter — farther 

Lights  about  you  shower  and  tumble, 
And  your  blood  seems  crystallising — 
Edged  and  vibrant,  yet  within  you 
Racked  and  hurried  back  and  forward. 

Then  the  lights  grow  fast  and  furious. 
And  your  hear  the  noise  of  waters, 
And  you  wrestle,  blind  and  dizzy, 
In  an  agony  of  effort. 

Till  a  sudden  lull  accepts  you. 

And  you  sound  an  utter  darkness  .  . 
And  awaken  .  .  .  with  a  struggle 
On  a  hushed,  attentive  audience. 


254  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

VI 

AFTER 

LIKEAS  a  flamelet  blanketed  in  snioke, 
So  through  the  anassthetic  shows  my  life ; 
So  flashes  and  so  fades  my  thought,  at  strife 
With  the  strong  stupor  that  I  heave  and  choke 
And  sicken  at,  it  is  so  foully  sweet. 
Faces  look  strange  from  space— and  disappear. 
Far  voices,  sudden  loud,  offend  my  ear — 
And  hush  as  sudden.     Then  my  senses  fleet : 
All  were  a  blank,  save  from  this  dull,  new  pain 
That  grinds  my  leg  and  foot ;  and  brokenly 
Time  and  the  place  glimpse  on  to  me  again ; 
And,  unsurprised,  out  of  uncertainty, 
I  wake — relapsing — somewhat  faint  and  fain. 
To  an  immense,  complacent  dreamery. 


VII 

VIGIL 


LIVED  on  one's  back. 
In  the  long  hours  of  repose 
Life  is  a  practical  nightmare — 
Hideous,  asleep  or  awake. 

Shoulders  and  loins 

Ache I 

Ache,  and  the  mattress, 
Run  into  boulders  and  hummocks. 
Glows  like  a  kiln,  while  the  bedclothes- 
Tumbling,  importunate,  daft — 
Ramble  and  roil,  and  the  gas, 
Screwed  to  its  lowermost, 
An  inevitable  atom  of  light. 
Haunts,  and  a  stertorous  sleeper 
Snores  me  to  hate  and  despair. 


IN  HOSPITAL  255 

All  the  old  time 

Surges  malignant  before  me  ; 

Old  voices,  old  kisses,  old  songs 

Blossom  derisive  about  me  ; 

While  the  new  days 

Pass  me  in  endless  procession : 

A  pageant  of  shadows 

Silently,  leeringly  wending 

On    .    .    .    and  still  on    .    .    .    still  on. 

Far  in  the  stillness  a  cat 

Languishes  loudly.     A  cinder 

Falls,  and  the  shadows 

Lurch  to  the  leap  of  the  flame.  The  next  man 
to  me 

Turns  with  a  moan ;  and  the  snorer. 

The  drug  like  a  rope  at  his  throat, 

Gasps,  gurgles,  snorts  himself  free,  as  the  night- 
nurse, 

Noiseless  and  strange. 

Her  bull's-eye  half-lanterned  in  apron, 

(Whispering  me,  "Are  ye  no  sleepin'  yet?  " 

Passes,  list-slippered  and  peering, 

Round    .    .     .    and  is  gone. 

Sleep  comes  at  last — 

Sleep  full  of  dreams  and  misgivings — 

Broken  with  brutal  and  sordid 

Voices  and  sounds 

That  impose  on  me,  ere  I  can  wake  to  it, 

The  unnatural,  intolerable  day. 

VIII 

STAFF-NURSE:  OLD  STYLE 

THE  greater  masters  of  the  commonplace, 
Rembrandt  and  good  Sir  Walter — only  these 
Could  paint  her  all  to  you  :  experienced  ease. 
And  antique  liveliness,  and  ponderous  grace  ; 


256  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

The  sweet  old  roses  of  her  sunken  face ; 

The  depth  and  malice  of  her  sly  gray  eyes ; 

The  broad  Scots  tongue  that  flatters,  scolds,  defies ; 

The  thick  Scots  wit  that  fells  you  like  a  mace. 

These  thirty  years  has  she  been  nursing  here, 

Some  of  them  under  SYME,  her  hero  still. 

Much  is  she  worth,  and  even  more  is  made  of  her. 

Patients  and  students  hold  her  very  dear. 

The  doctors  love  her,  tease  her,  use  her  skill. 

They  say  "  The  Chief"  himself  is  half-afraid  of  her. 


IX 

LADY  PROBATIONER 

SOME  three,  or  five,  or  seven  and  thirty  years; 
A  Roman  nose  ;  a  dimpling  double-chin; 
Dark  eyes  and  shy  that,  ignorant  of  sin. 
Are  yet  acquainted,  it  would  seem,  with  tears  ; 
A  comely  shape;  a  slim,  high-colored  hand, 
Graced,  rather  oddly,  with  a  signet  ring; 
A  bashful  air,  becoming  everything; 
A  well-bred  silence  always  at  command. 
Her  plain  print  gown,  prim  cap,  and  bright  steel  chain 
Look  out  of  place  on  her,  and  I  remain 
Absorbed  in  her,  as  in  a  pleasant  mystery. 
Quick,  skilful,  quiet,  soft  in  speech  and  touch    .    .    . 
"  Do  you  like  nursing?  "     "  Yes,  Sir,  very  much." 
Somehow,  I  rather  think  she  has  a  history. 


X 

STAFF-NURSE:  NEW  STYLE 

BLUE-EYED  and  bright  of  face,  but  walnlng  fast 
Into  the  sere  of  virginal  decay, 
I  view  her  as  she  enters,  day  by  day. 
As  a  sweet  sunset  almost  overpast 


IN  HOSPITAL  257 

Kindly  and  calm,  patrician  to  the  last, 

Superbly  falls  her  gown  of  sober  gray, 

And  on  her  chignon's  elegant  array 

The  plainest  cap  is  somehow  touched  with  caste. 

She  talks  Beethoven  ;  frowns  disapprobation 

At  Balzac's  name,  sighs  it  at  "poor  George  Sand's"; 

Knows  that  she  has  exceeding  pretty  hands ; 

Speaks  Latin  with  a  right  accentuation ; 

And  gives  at  need  (as  one  who  understands) 

Draught,  counsel,  diagnosis,  exhortation. 


XI 

CLINICAL 

HIST?    .     .     . 
Through  the  corridor's  echoes 
Louder  and  nearer 
Comes  a  great  shuffling  of  feet. 
Quick,  every  one  of  you, 
Straighten  your  quilts,  and  be  decent ! 
Here's  the  Professor. 

In  he  comes  first 

With  the  bright  look  we  know, 

From  the  broad,  white  brows  the  kind  eyes 

Soothing  yet  nerving  you.     Here,  at  his  elbow. 

White-capped,  white-aproned,  the  Nurse, 

Towel  on  arm  and  her  inkstand 

Fretful  with  quills. 

Here,  in  the  ruck,  anyhow, 

Surging  along. 

Louts,  duffers,  exquisites,  students,  and  prigs — 

Whiskers  and  foreheads,  scarf-pins  and  spectacles 

Hustle  the  Class !     And  they  ring  themselves 

Round  the  first  bed,  where  the  Chief 

(His  dressers  and  clerks  at  attention!) 

Bends  in  inspection  already. 

6-17 


258  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

So  shows  the  ring 

Seen,  from  behind,  round  a  conjuror 

Doing  his  pitch  in  the  street. 

High  shoulders,  low  shoulders,  broad  shoulders,  narrow 

ones. 
Round,  square,  and  angular,  serry  and  shove ; 
While  from  within  a  voice, 
Gravely  and  weightily  fluent, 
Sounds ;  and  then  ceases  ;  and  suddenly 
(Look  at  the  stress  of  the  shoulders !) 
Out  of  a  quiver  of  silence. 
Over  the  hiss  of  the  spray, 
Comes  a  low  cry,  and  the  sound 
Of  breath  quick  intaken  through  teeth 
Clenched  in  resolve.     And  the  Master 
Breaks  from  the  crowd,  and  goes, 
Wiping  his  hands. 
To  the  next  bed,  with  his  pupils 
Flocking  and  whispering  behind  him. 

Now  one  can  see. 

Case  Number  One 

Sits  (rather  pale)  with  his  bed-clothes 

Stripped  up,  and  showing  his  foot 

(Alas  for  God's  image !) 

Swaddled  in  wet,  white  lint 

Brilliantly  hideous  with  red. 

XII 

ETCHING 

TWO  and  thirty  is  the  ploughman. 
He's  a  man  of  gallant  inches, 
And  his  hair  is  close  and  curly. 

And  his  beard ; 
But  his  face  is  wan  and  sunken, 
And  his  eyes  are  large  and  brilliant, 
And  his  shoulder-blades  are  sharp, 
And  his  knees. 


IN  HOSPITAL  259 

He  is  weak  of  wits,  religious. 
Full  of  sentiment  and  yearning, 
Gentle,  faded — with  a  cough 

And  a  snore. 
When  his  wife  (who  was  a  widow, 
And  is  many  years  his  elder) 
Fails  to  write,  and  that  is  always, 

He  desponds. 

Let  his  melancholy  wander, 

And  he'll  tell  you  pretty  stories 

Of  the  women  that  have  wooed  him 

Long  ago ; 
Or  he'll  sing  of  bonnie  lasses 
Keeping  sheep  among  the  heather. 
With  a  crackling,  hackling  click 

In  his  voice. 

XIII 
CASUALTY 


A 


S  with  varnish  red  and  glistening 
Dripped  his  hair;  his  feet  were  rigid; 
Raised,  he  settled  stiffly  sideways : 
You  could  see  the  hurts  were  spinal. 


He  had  fallen  from  an  engine, 

And  been  dragged  along  the  metals. 
It  was  hopeless,  and  they  knew  it ; 
So  they  covered  him,  and  left  him. 

As  he  lay,  by  fits  half  sentiment. 
Inarticulately  moaning. 
With  his  stockinged  feet  protruded 
Sharp  and  awkward  from  the  blankets, 

To  his  bed  there  came  a  woman, 

Stood  and  looked  and  sighed  a  little. 
And  departed  without  speaking. 
As  himself  a  few  hours  after. 


260  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

I  was  told  it  was  his  sweetheart. 

They  were  on  the  eve  of  marriage. 

She  was  quiet  as  a  statue, 

But  her  lip  was  gray  and  writhen. 

XIV 
AVE,  CAESAR! 

FROM  the  Winter's  gray  despair, 
From  the  summer's  golden  langor, 
Death,  the  lover  of  Life, 
Frees  us  for  ever. 

Inevitable,  silent,  unseen. 

Everywhere  always. 

Shadow  by  night  and  as  light  in  the  day, 

Signs  she  at  last  to  her  chosen ; 

And,  as  she  waves  them  forth. 

Sorrow  and  Joy 

Lay  by  their  looks  and  their  voices. 

Set  down  their  hopes,  and  are  made 

One  in  the  dim  Forever. 

Into  the  winter's  gray  delight. 
Into  the  summer's  golden  dream. 
Holy  and  high  and  impartial. 
Death,  the  mother  of  Life, 
Mingles  all  men  for  ever. 

XV 

"THE  CHIEF" 

HIS  brow  spreads  large  and  placid,  and  his  eye 
Is  deep  and  bright,  with  steady  looks  that  still. 
Soft  lines  of  tranquil  thought  his  face  fulfill — 
His  face  at  once  benign  and  proud  and  shy. 
If  envy  scout,  if  ignorance  deny. 
His  faultless  patience,  his  unyielding  will. 
Beautiful  gentleness,  and  splendid  skill, 
Innumerable  gratitudes  reply. 


IN  HOSPITAL  261 

His  wise,  rare  smile  is  sweet  with  certainties, 
It  seems  in  all  his  patients  to  compel 
Such  love  and  faith  as  failure  cannot  quell. 
We  hold  him  for  another  Herakles, 
Battling  with  custom,  prejudice,  disease, 
As  once  the  son  of  Zeus  with  Death  and  Hell, 


XVI 

HOUSE-SURGEON 

EXCEEDING  tall,  but  built  so  well  his  height 
Half-disappears  in  flow  of  chest  and  limb ; 
Moustache  and  whisker  trooper-like  in  trim  ; 
Frank-faced,  frank-eyed,  frank-hearted  ;  always  bright 
And  always  punctual — morning,  noon,  and  night; 
Bland  as  a  Jesuit,  sober  as  a  hymn ; 
Humourous,  and  yet  without  a  touch  of  whim  ; 
Gentle  and  amiable,  yet  full  of  fight; 
His  piety,  though  fresh  and  true  in  strain. 
Has  not  yet  whitewashed  up  his  common  mood 
To  the  dead  blank  of  his  particular  Schism : 
Sweet,  unaggressive,  tolerant,  most  humane. 
Wild  artists  like  his  kindly  elderhood, 
And  cultivate  his  mild  Philistinism. 

XVII 

INTERLUDE 


o 


THE  fun,  the  fun  and  frolic 

That  The  Wind  that  Shakes  the  Barley 

Scatter  through  a  penny  whistle 

Tickled  with  artistic  fingers ! 


Kate  the  scrubber  (forty  summers, 

Stout  but  sportive)  treads  a  measure, 
Grinning,  in  herself  a  ballet, 
Fixed  as  fate  upon  her  audience. 


262  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Stumps  are  shaking,  crutch-supported ; 
Splinted  fingers  tap  the  rhythm  ; 
And  a  head  all  helmed  with  plasters 
Wags  a  measured  approbation. 

Of  their  mattress-life  oblivious, 

All  the  patients,  brisk  and  cheerful. 
Are  encouraging  the  dancer, 
And  applauding  the  musician. 

Dim  the  gasses  in  the  output 
Of  so  many  ardent  smokers, 
Full  of  shadow  lurch  the  corners, 
And  the  doctor  peeps  and  passes. 

There  are,  maybe,  some  suspicions 
Of  an  alcoholic  presence  .  ,  . 
"  Tak'  a  sup  of  this,  my  wumman !  "  .  .    . 
New  Year  comes  but  once  a  twelve  month. 


XVIII 
CHILDREN:  PRIVATE  WARD 

HERE  in  this  dim,  dull,  double-bedded  room, 
I  am  a  father  to  a  brace  of  boys, 
Ailing,  but  apt  for  every  sort  of  noise, 
Bedfast,  but  brilliant  yet  with  health  and  bloom. 
Roden,  the  Irishman,  is  "sieven  past," 
Blue-eyed,  snub-nosed,  chubby,  and  fair  of  face. 
Willie  's  but  six,  and  seems  to  like  the  place, 
A  cheerful  little  collier  to  the  last. 
They  eat,  and  laugh,  and  sing,  and  fight,  all  day; 
All  night  they  sleep  like  dormice.     See  them  play 
At  Operations : — Roden,  the  Professor, 
Saws,  lectures,  takes  the  artery  up,  and  ties ; 
Willie,  self-chloroformed,  with  half-shut  eyes, 
Holding  the  limb  and  moaning — Case  and  Dresser. 


IN  HOSPITAL  263 

XIX 

SCRUBBER 

SHE'S  tall  and  gaunt,  and  in  her  hard,  sad  face_ 
With  flashes  of  the  old  fun's  animation. 
There  lowers  the  fixed  and  peevish  resignation 
Bred  of  a  past  where  troubles  came  apace. 
She  tells  me  that  her  husband,  ere  he  died. 
Saw  seven  of  their  children  pass  away. 
And  never  knew  the  little  lass  at  play 
Out  on  the  green,  in  whom  he 's  deified. 
Her  kin  dispersed,  her  friends  forgot  and  gone, 
All  simple  faith  her  honest  Irish  mind. 
Scolding  her  spoiled  young  saint,  she  labors  on: 
Telling  her  dreams,  taking  her  patients'  part, 
Trailing  her  coat  sometimes :  and  you  shall  find 
No  rougher,  quainter  speech,  nor  kinder  heart. 


XX 


VISITOR 


HER  little  face  is  like  a  walnut  shell 
With  wrinkling  lines ;  her  soft,  white  hair  adorns 
Her  either  brow  in  quaint,  straight  curls,  like  horns; 
And  all  about  her  clings  an  old,  sweet  smell. 
Prim  is  her  grown  and  quakerlike  her  shawl. 
Well  might  her  bonnets  have  been  born  on  her. 
Can  you  conceive  a  Fairy  Godmother 
The  subject  of  a  real  religious  call  ? 
In  snow  or  shine,  from  bed  to  bed  she  runs, 
Her  mittened  hands,  that  ever  give  or  pray. 
Bearing  a  sheaf  of  tracts,  a  bag  of  buns, 
All  twinkling  smiles  and  texts  and  pious  tales : 
A  wee  old  maid  that  sweeps  the  Bridegroom's  way. 
Strong  in  a  cheerful  trust  that  never  fails, 


264  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

XXI 

ROMANCE 

"  'nr^ALK  of  pluck  !  "  pursued  the  Sailor. 

X  Set  at  euchre  on  his  elbow, 
"  I  was  on  the  wharf  at  Charleston, 
Just  ashore  from  off  the  runner. 

"  It  was  gray  and  dirty  weather, 
And  I  heard  a  drum  go  rolling, 
Rub-a-dubbing  in  the  distance. 
Awful  dour-like  and  defiant. 

"  In  and  out  among  the  cotton, 
Mud,  and  chains,  and  stores,  and  anchors, 
Tramped  a  squad  of  battered  scarecrows — 
Poor  old  Dixie's  bottom  dollar ! 

"  Some  had  shoes,  but  all  had  rifles, 
Them  that  was  n't  bald,  was  beardless. 
And  the  drum  was  rolling  Dixie, 
And  they  stepped  to  it  like  men,  sir ! 

"  Rags  and  tatters,  belts  and  bayonets. 
On  they  swung,  the  drum  a-roUing, 
Mum  and  sour.     It  looked  like  fighting. 
And  they  meant  it  too,  by  thunder! 

XXII 
PASTORAL 

TIS  the  Spring 
Earth  has  conceived,  and  her  bosom. 
Teeming  with  summer.  Is  glad. 

Thro'  the  green  land. 

Vistas  of  change  and  adverture. 

The  gray  roads  go  beckoning  and  winding, 

Peopled  with  wains,  and  melodious 


IN  HOSPITAL  265 

With  harness-bells  jangling, 

Jangling  and  twangling  rough  rhythms 

To  the  slow  niarch  of  the  stately,  great  horses 

Whistled  and  shouted  along. 

White  fleets  of  cloud. 
Argosies  heavy  with  fruitfulness, 
Sail  the  blue  peacefully.     Green  flame  the  hedge- 
rows. 

Blackbirds  are  bugling,  and  white  in  wet  winds, 

Sway  the  tall  poplars, 

Pageants  of  color  and  fragrance. 

Pass  the  sweet  meadows,  and  viewless 

Walks  the  mild  spirit  of  May, 

Visibly  blessing  the  world. 

O  the  brilliance  of  blossoming  orchards! 

0  the  savor  and  thrill  of  the  woods. 

When  their  leafage  is  stirred 

By  the  flight  of  the  angel  of  rain  ! 

Loud  lows  the  steer ;  in  the  fallows 

Rooks  are  alert ;  and  the  brooks 

Gurgle  and  tinkle  and  trill.     Thro'  the  gloaming 

Under  the  rare,  shy  stars, 

Boy  and  girl  wander. 

Dreaming  in  darkness  and  dew. 

It 's  the  Spring. 

A  sprightliness  feeble  and  squalid 
Wakes  in  the  ward,  and  I  sicken, 
Impotent,  winter  at  heart. 

XXIII 

MUSIC 

DOWN  the  quiet  eve. 
Thro'  my  window,  with  the  sunset, 
Pipes  to  me  a  distant  organ 
Foolish  ditties : 


266  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And,  as  when  you  change 
Pictures  in  a  magic  lantern, 
Books,  beds,  bottles,  floor,  and  ceiling 
Fade  and  vanish, 

And  I  'm  well  once  more.  .  .  . 
August  flares  adust  and  torrid. 
But  my  heart  is  full  of  April 
Sap  and  sweetness. 

In  the  quiet  eve 

I  am  loitering,  longing,  dreaming  .  .  . 
Dreaming,  and  a  distant  organ 
Pipes  me  ditties. 

I  can  see  the  shop, 
I  can  smell  the  sprinkled  pavement. 
Where  she  serves — her  chestnut  chignon 
Thrills  my  senses. 

0  the  sight  and  scent, 
Wistful  eve  and  perfumed  pavement ! 
In  the  distance  pipes  an  organ  .  .  . 
The  sensation 

Comes  to  me  anew, 

And  my  spirit,  for  a  moment 

Thro'  the  music  breathes  the  blessed 

Air  of  London. 


XXIV 

SUICIDE. 

'TARING  corpselike  at  the  ceiling, 
I  See  the  harsh,  unrazored  features. 
Ghastly  brown  against  his  pillow, 
And  the  throat— so  strangely  bandaged ! 


IN  HOSPITAL  267 

Lack  of  work  and  lack  of  victuals, 
A  debauch  of  smuggled  whisky, 
And  his  children  in  the  workhouse, 
Made  the  world  so  black  a  riddle 

That  he  plunged  for  a  solution  ; 

And,  although  his  knife  was  edgeless, 

He  was  sinking  fast  toward  one, 

When  they  came,  and  found,  and  saved  him. 

Stupid  now  with  shame  and  sorrow, 
In  the  night  I  hear  him  sobbing. 
But  sometimes  he  talks  a  little, 
He  has  told  me  all  his  troubles. 

In  his  face,  so  tanned  and  bloodless, 
White  and  wide  his  eyeballs  glitter ; 
And  his  smile,  occult  and  tragic. 
Makes  you  shudder  when  you  see  it. 


XXV 

APPARITION 

THIN-LEGGED,  thin-chested,  slight  unspeakably, 
Neat-footed,  and  weak-fingered :  In  his  face — 
Lean,  large-boned,  curved  of  beak,  and  touched  with  race, 
Bold-lipped,  rich-tinted,  mutable  as  the  sea. 
The  brown  eyes  radiant  with  vivacity — 
There  shines  a  brilliant  and  romantic  grace, 
A  spirit  intense  and  rare,  with  trace  on  trace 
Of  passion,  impudence,  and  energy. 
Valiant  in  velvet,  light  in  ragged  luck, 
Most  vain,  most  generous,  sternly  critical. 
Buffoon  and  poet,  lover  and  sensualist: 
A  deal  of  Ariel,  just  a  streak  of  Puck, 
Much  Antony,  of  Hamlet  most  of  all. 
And  something  of  the  Shorter-Catechist. 


268  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

XXVI 

ANTEROTICS 


L 


AUGHS  the  happy  April  morn 
Thro'  my  grimmy,  little  window. 
And  a  shaft  of  sunshine  pushes 
Thro'  the  shadows  in  the  square. 


Dogs  are  romping  thro'  the  grass, 

Crows  are  cawing  round  the  chimneys, 
And  among  the  bleaching  linen 
Goes  the  west  at  hide-and-seek. 

Loud  and  cheerful  clangs  the  bell. 

Here  the  nurses  troop  to  breakfast. 
Handsome,  ugly,  all  are  women     .     . 
0  the  Spring— the  Spring— the  Spring  1 

XXVII 

NOCTURN 


A 


T  the  barren  heart  of  midnight, 
When  the  shadow  shuts  and  opens 
As  the  loud  flames  pulse  and  flutter, 
I  can  hear  a  cistern  leaking.     • 


"Dripping,  dropping,  in  a  rhythm 

Rough,  unequal,  half-melodious, 
Like  the  measures  aped  from  nature 
In  the  infancy  of  music ; 

Like  the  buzzing  of  an  insect. 

Still,  irrational,  persistent,     .     .     . 
I  must  listen,  listen,  listen 
In  a  passion  of  attention ; 

Till  it  taps  upon  my  heartstrings, 
And  my  very  life  goes  dripping. 
Dropping,  dripping,  drip-drip-dropping. 
In  the  drip-drop  of  the  cistern. 


IN  HOSPITAL  269 

XXVIII 
DISCHARGED 

CARRY  me  out 
Into  the  wind  and  the  sunshine, 
Into  the  beautiful  world. 

0  the  wonder,  the  spell  of  the  streets  I 
The  stature  and  strength  of  the  horses, 
The  rustle  and  echo  of  footfalls, 

The  flat  roar  and  rattle  of  wheels  ! 

A  swift  tram  floats  huge  on  us     .     .     . 

It's  a  dream  ? 

The  smell  of  the  mud  in  my  nostrils 

Is  brave — like  a  breath  of  the  sea  I 

As  of  old, 

Ambulant,  undulant  drapery, 
Vaguely  and  strangely  provocative, 
Flutters  and  beckons.     0  yonder — 
Scarlet ! — the  glint  of  a  stocking  1 
Sudden  a  spire, 

Wedged  in  the  mist  1     0  the  houses, 
The  long  lines  of  lofty,  gray  houses! 
Cross-hatched  with  shadow  and  light, 
These  are  the  streets.     .     .     . 
Each  is  an  avenue  leading 
Whither  I  will! 

Free     ...     I 
Dizzy,  hysterical,  faint, 

1  sit,  and  the  carriage  rolls  on  with  me 
Into  the  wonderful  world. 

— The  Old  Infirmary,  Edindurgh,  1873-75. 


270  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

Envoy 

TO    CHARLES    BAXTER 

DO  you  remember 
That  afternoon — that  Sunday  afternoon ! — 
When,  as  the  kirks  were  ringing  in 
And  the  gray  city  teemed 
With  Sabbath  feelings  and  aspects, 
Lewis — our  Lewis  then, 
Now  the  whole  world's! — and  you 
Young,  yet  in  shape  most  like  an  elder,  came. 
Laden  with  BALZACS 
(Big,  yellow  books,  quite  impudently  French) 
The  first  of  many  times. 
To  that  transformed  back-kitchen  where  I  lay 
So  long,  so  many  centuries — 
Or  years,  is  it ! — ago? 

Dear  Charles,  since  then 

We  have  been  friends,  Lewis  and  you  and  I, 

(How  good  it  sounds,  "  Lewis  and  you  and  I !  ")  : 

Such  friends,  1  like  to  think 

That  in  us  three,  Lewis  and  me  and  you. 

Is  something  of  that  gallant  dream 

Which  old  DUMAS — the  generous,  the  humane. 

The  seven-and-seventy  times  to  be  forgiven ! — 

Dreamed  for  a  blessing  to  the  race. 

The  immortal  Musketeers. 

Our  Athos  rests — the  wise,  the  kind. 

The  liberal  and  august,  his  fault  atoned, 

Rests  in  the  crowded  yard 

There  at  the  west  of  Princes  Street.     We  three- 

You,  1,  and  Lewis! — still  afoot. 

Are  still  together,  and  our  lives. 

In  chime  so  long,  may  keep 

(God  bless  the  thought !) 

Unjangled  till  the  end. 

— William  Ernest  Henley. 


OLE  DOCTEUR  FISET  271 


Ole  Docteur  Fiset 

LE  Docteur  Fiset  of  Saint  Anicet 
ISapre  tonnerre  !  he  was  leev'  long  tarn, 
'l  s'pose  he's  got  ninety  year  or  so, 

Beat  all  on  de  parish  'cept  Pierre  Courteau, 
An'  day  affer  day  he  work  all  de  sam'  1 

Dat  house  on  de  hill,  you  can  see  it  still, 

She's  sam'  place  he  buil'  de  firs'  tarn  he  come, 

Behin'  it  dere's  wan  leetle  small  jardin, 

Got  plaintee  de  bes  tabac  Canayen, 

Wit'  fameuse  apple,  an'  beeg  blue  plum — 

An'  dey're  all  right  dere,  for  de  small  boys'  scare, 
No  matter  de  apple  look  nice  an'  red. 
For  de  small  boy  know  if  he's  stealin'  some. 
Den  Docteur  Fiset  on  dark  night  he  come 
An'  cut  leetle  feller  right  off  hees  head ! 

But  w'en  dey  was  rap,  an'  tak'  off  de  cap, 

M'sieu'  le  Docteur  he  will  say  "  Entrez!  " 

Den  all  de  boy  pass  on  jardin  behind,' 

Were  dey  eat  mos'  ev'ryt'ing  good  dey  fin' 

Till  dey  can't  go  on  school  nearly  two,  free  day! — 

But  Docteur  Fiset,  not  moche  fonne  he  get 
Drivin'  all  over  de  whole  contree  ; 
If  de  road  she's  bad,  if  de  road  she's  good 
W'en  ev'ryt'ings  drown  on  de  Spring-tam  flood. 
An'  workin'  for  not'ing  half-tam,  mebbe! 

Let  her  rain  or  snow,  all  he  want  to  know 
Is  jus'  if  anywan's  feelin'  sick, 
For  Docteur  Fiset's  de  ole  fashion  kin', 
Doin'  good  was  de  only  t'ing  on  hees  min', 
So  he  got  no  use  for  de  politique. 


'Ita  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

An'  he's  careful  too  !    'cos  firs'  t'ing  he  do 
For  fear  dere  was  danger  some  fever  case. 
Is  tak'  w'en  he's  come,  leetle  w'isky  chaud. 
Den  'noder  wan  too,  jus'  before  he  go, 
He's  so  scare  carry  fever  aroun'  de  place ! 

On  nice  Summer  day,  w'en  w'ere  makin'  hay, 

Dere's  not'ing  more  pleasant  for  us  I'm  sure 

Dan  see  de  ole  man  came  joggin'  along 

Alway  singin'  some  leetle  song. 

An'  hear  heem  say  "  Tiens!  mes  amis,  Bonjour!" 

An'  w'en  de  cole  rain  was  commence  again 

An'  we're  sittin*  at  home  on  some  warm  cor-nerre. 

If  we  hear  de  buggy  an'  see  de  light 

Tearin'  along  t'roo  de  black  black  night 

We  know  right  off,  it's  de  old  Docteur ! 

An'  he's  smart  horse,  sure,  w'at  he  call  "  Faubourg' 
Ev'ry  place  on  de  county  he  know  dem  all, 
An'  you  ought  to  see  de  nice  way  he  go 
For  fear  he's  upsettin'  upon  de  snow 
W'en  ole  man's  asleep  on  de  cariole. 

I  'member  w'en  poor  Hormisdas  Couture 

Get  sick  on  hees  place  twenty  mile  away. 

An'  hees  boy  Ovide  he  was  come  "  Raquette," 

W'at  you  call  "Snow-shoe,"  for  Docteur  Fiset — 

An'  Docteur  he  start  wit'  hees  horse  an'  sleigh. 

All  de  night  before,  de  beeg  storm  she  roar 
An'  mos'  of  de  day  it's  de  sam  also 
De  drif  was  pilin'  up  ten  feet  high. 
You  can't  see  not'ing  dis  side  de  sky, 
Not'ing  but  wan  avalanche  of  snow ! 

I'm  hearin'  de  bell  w'en  I  go  on  de  well 

For  water  de  cattle  on  barn  close  by. 

But  I  only  ketch  sight  of  hees  cheval  blanc 

An'  hees  coonskin  coat  wit'  de  capuchon. 

An'  de  storm  tak'  heem  off  jus'  de  sam  he  fly — 


A  MEDICAL  STUDENT'S  LETTER  273 

Mus'  be  le  bon  Dieu  dat  is  help  heem  t'roo, 
Ole  Docteur  Fiset  an'  hees  horse  "  Faubourg." 
'Y'was  somet'ing  for  splalnin',  wall!    I  dont  care 
But  somehow  or  'nother  he's  gettin'  dere 
An'  save  de  life  Hormisdas  Couture ! 

But  it's  sam  alway,  lak  dat  ev'ry  day 

He  never  was  spare  hese'f  pour  nous  autres ; 

He  don't  mak'  moche  monee  Docteur  Fiset, 

An'  offen  de  only  t'ing  he  was  get 

Is  de  poor  man's  prayer,  an'  wan  bag  of  oat. 

Wall !    Doctor  Fiset  of  Saint  Anicet 

He's  not  dead  yet !    an'  I'm  purty  sure 

If  you're  passin'  dat  place  about  ten  years  more. 

You  will  see  heem  go  roun'  lak  he  go  before. 

Wit'  de  ole  cariole  an'  hees  horse  "  Faubourg." 

— Dr.  William  Henry  Drummond. 


A  Medical  Student's  Letter 

"If  you'd  go  for  to  think  for  to  dare  for  to  try  for  to  beat  me 

at  lyrics, 
Man  would  fall  down  with  the  laughing,  and  woman  go  oS  in 

hysterics." 

,0  '  N  vain  alchemic  hieroglyphs  to  charm  me  now,  whereas  I 
•7  )     hum 

Love-songs  all  day,  and  look  as  pale  as  oxide  of  potassium. 
.  Oh  !  did  1  own,  far,  far  away,  some  spicy  and  tobaccoed  isle, 
I'd  smoke  and  sigh  the  livelong  day.  and  curse  the  salts   of 

KAKODYLE, 
With  SULPHURETTED  HYDROGEN,  AMMONIA,  AND  KALIUM, 

And  sit  most  sentimentally  in  buffo,  and  Haynes  Bailey  hum. 
1  cause  among  the  Burschen  all  considerable  merriment. 
By  swallowing  the  alcohol  intended  for  experiment ; 

6—18 


^ 


274  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And  from  the  grave  professors,  too,  Incur  enormous  odium, 

For  once,  instead  of  tea,  I  filled  their  pot  with  salt  of  sodium  ; 

The  world  guffaws,  not  without  cause,  to  see  me  quite  dejected 
thus — 

My  languages  forgotten,  and  my  sciences  neglected  thus. 

The  old  may  scold,  the  young  give  tongue,  fall  flat  the  fat,  and 
laugh  the  lean. 

To  see  me  spill  the  glyceryl,  and  fill  my  pipe  with  naphtha- 
line. 

Contract  four  flexors,  lovely  Frau,  and  take  me  to  your  pec- 
torals— 

A  doctor  skilled  to  kill  or  cure  and  readily  detect  your  ills. 

Oh !  think  of  what  a  treasure  in  pertussis  or  sciatica. 

In  catalepsy,  muUygrubs,  or  facies  hypocratica. 

Beware,  my  fair,  or  hear  me  swear,  by  Ahriman,  that  if  you're 
stiff, 

Your  acid  frown  shall,  slap  bang  down,  precipitate  me  o'er  a 
cliff. 

Farewell,  then,  dear  companions,  and  farewell,  cenoe  deorum. 

Where  we  talked  de  rebus  omnibus,  with  notae  variorum. 

But  always  perorated  with  a  scientific  jorum. 

We  supped  on  theobromine,. and  perhaps  at  times  we  quaffed 
a  late 

Crucible  of  alcohol  disputing  of  a  naphthalate. 

Till  our  noses  glowed  like  cinnabar,  and  many  a  yellow  rum 
bum. 

Per,  hot  and  cold,  flowed  on  like  gold,  or  iodine  of  plumbum. 

Retorts  sublime,  we  slaked  our  lime,  until  the  morning  star, 
boys, 

Beheld  us  fall,  with  beakers  all,  and  roll  among  the  carboys. 

But  now  a  very  absent  man,  I've  scarcely  got  a  word  to  say. 

Or,  if  to  show  my  teeth  at  all,  'tis  something  miost  absurd  to  say; 

And  even  at  the  opera,  among  the  gods  and  top-row  lights, 

I  ruminate  on  behemoths  and  chew  the  cud  on  coprolites. 

And  shall  I  in  suspension  hang,  to  glorify  thee,  eh?     Nay, 

Nor  in  the  meerchaum  plunge  by  way  of  bolneum  arenae. 

We  are  not  isomorphous  in  our  souls,  thou  fair  deceiver. 

And  I  to  coquetry's  retort  decline  to  play  receiver ; 

Nor  would  my  heart  amalgamate  to  that  of  a  divinity 

Who  could  not  cling  to  mine  with  more  than  chemical  affinity. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DREAM  275 

No,  fuse  me  in  a  furnace  blast!    I'll  sing  that  Celtic  air  first. 
"  Go  to  the  d 1  and  shake  yourself,"  to  banish  my  despair 

first. 
For  what's  a  queen  in  diamonds,  with  her  coronation  garb  on, 
But  CALCIUM  and  phosphorus,  haematosine  and  carbon  ? 
ril  take  unto  me  crucibles  and  capsules,  tubes  and  funnels. 
And  pour  down  mine  assophagus  rich  German  wine  in  runnels ; 
And  though  my  frozen  Fraulein  like  to  Aphrodite  wore  a  form, 
'Twill  act  upon  my  occiput  like  ether  or  like  chloroform ; 
And  ever  on  my  optics  shall  the  vision  of  that  maiden  jar, 
Erewhile  that  thrilled  me  with  a  shock  more  powerful  than  a 

Leyden  jar. 

— Richard  Dalton  Williams. 


The  Doctor's  Dream 

5  ■  AM  sitting  alone,  by  the  surgery  fire,  with  my  pipe   alight, 

T  )        now  the  day  is  done  ; 

TT     The  village  is  quiet,  the  wife's  asleep,  the  child  is  hushed, 

and  the  clock  strikes  one ! 
And  I  think  to  myself,  as  I  read  the   Journal,  and   I   bless   my 

life  for  the  peace  upstairs. 
That  the  burden's  sore  for  the  best  of  men,  but  few  can  dream 

what  a  doctor  bears  ; 
For  here  I  sit  at  the  close  of  a  day,  whilst  others  have  counted 

their  profit  and  gain. 
And  I  have  tried  as  much  as  a   man   can   do,  in   my  humble 

manner,  to  soften  pain  ; 
I  've  warned  them  all,  in  a  learned  way,  of  careful  diet,  and 

talked  of  tone ; 
And  when  I  have  preached  of  regular  meals,  I  've  scarcely  had 

time  to  swallow  my  own. 
I  was  waked  last  night  in  my  first  long  sleep,  when  I  crawled  to 

bed  from  my  rounds — dead  beat. 
"Ah,  the  Doctor's  called!  "  and  they  turned  and  snortd,  as  my 

trap  went  rattling  down  the  street ! 


276  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

I  sowed  my  oats,  pretty  wild  they  were,  in  the   regular  manner 

when  life  was  free  ; 
For  a  medical  student  isn't  a  saint,  any  more  than  your  ortho- 
dox Pharisee ! 
I  suppose  I  did  what  others  have  done,  since  the  whirligig  round 

of  folly  began ; 
And  the  ignorant  pleasures  I  loved  as  a  boy,  I  have  pretty  well 

cursed  since  I  came  to  be  man. 
But  still  I  recall  through  the   mist  of  years,  and  through  the 

portals  of  memory  steal. 
The  kindly  voice  of  a  dear  old  man  who  talked  to  us  lads  of  the 

men  who  heal. 
Of  the  splendid  mission  in  life  for  those  who  study  the  science 

that  comes  from  God, 
Who  buckle  the  armor  of   Nature   on,  who  bare   their  breasts 

and  who  kiss  the  rod. 
So  the  boy  disappeared  in  the  faith  of  the   man,  and  the  oats 

were  sowed,  but  I  never  forgot 
There  were  few  better  things  in  the  world  to  do  than  to  lose  all 

self  in  the  doctor's  lot. 
So  I  left  life  that  had  seemed  so  dear,  to  earn  a  crust  that  isn't 

so  cheap. 
And  I  bought  a  share  of  a  practice  here,  to  win  my  way,  and  to 

lose  my  sleep ; 
To  be  day  and  night  at  the  beck  and  call  of  men  who  ail  and 

women  who  lie ; 
To  know  how  often  the  rascals  live,  and  see   with  sorrow  the 

dear  ones  die  ; 
To  be  laughed  to  scorn  as  a  man  who  fails,  when  nature  pays 

her  terrible  debt ; 
To  give  a  mother  her  first-born's  smile,  and  leave  the  eyes  of 

the  husband  wet ; 
To   face  and  brave    the  gossip   and  stuff   that  travels   about 

through  a  country  town  ; 
To  be  thrown  in  the  way  of  hysterical  girls,  and  live  all  terrible 

scandals  down ; 
To  study  at  night  in  the  papers  here   of  new   disease  and  of 

human  ills ; 


THE  DOCTOR  277 

To  work  like  a  slave  for  a  weary  year,  and  then  to  be  cursed 
when  1  send  my  bills ! 


Upon  my  honor,  we  're  not  too  hard  on  those  who  cannot  afford 

to  pay. 
For  nothing  I  've  cured  the  widow  and  child,  for  nothing   I  've 

watched  till  the  night  turned  day; 
I  've  earned  the  prayers  of  the  poor,  thank  God,  and  1  've  borne 

the  sneers  of  the  pampered  beast, 
I  've  heard  confessions  and  kept  them  safe  as   a  sacred  trust 

like  a  righteous  priest. 
To  do  my  duty  I  never  have  sworn,  as  others  must  do   in  this 

world  of  woe. 

But  I  've  driven  away  to  the  bed  of  pain,  through  days  of  rain, 

through  nights  of  snow. 

***** 

As  here  I  sit  and  1  smoke  my  pipe,  when  the  day  Is  done  and 

the  wife's  asleep, 
I  think  of  that   brother-in-arms  who  's  gone,  and  utter — well 

something  loud  and  deep  ! 
And  I  read  the  Journal  and  1  fling  it  down,  and  I  fancy  1  hear 

in  the  night  that  scream. 
Of  a  woman  who  's   crying  for  vengeance  !     Hark !   no,   the 

house  is  still  1     It 's  a  doctor's  dream  1 

— Anonymous. 


The  Doctor 

IN  love  he  practiced,  and  in  patience  taught, 
The  sacred  art  that  battles  with  disease  ; 
Nor  stained  by  one  disloyal  act  or  thought, 
The  holy  symbol  of  Hippocrates. 

— Anonymous 


278  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 


Lines  to  a  Skeleton 

EHOLD  this  ruin!     'twas  a  skull, 

Once  of  etheral  spirit  full ; 
|This  narrow  cell  was  life's  retreat, 

This  space  was  thought's  mysterious  seat. 
What  beauteous  visions  filled  this  spot ! 
What  dreams  of  pleasure  long  forgot ! 
Nor  love,  nor  joy,  nor  hope,  nor  fear, 
Has  left  one  trace  of  record  here. 

Beneath  this  mouldering  canopy, 

Once  shone  the  bright  and  busy  eye ; 

But  start  not  at  the  dismal  void — 

If  social  love  that  eye  employed. 

If  with  no  lawless  fire  it  gleamed, 

But  through  the  dew  of  kindness  beamed, 

That  eye  shall  be  forever  bright, 

When  stars  and  sun  have  lost  their  light. 

Here,  in  this  silent  cavern,  hung 

The  ready,  swift  and  tuneful  tongue  ; 

If  falsehood's  honey  it  disdained. 

And,  where  it  could  not  praise,  was  chained, 

If  bold  in  virtue's  cause  it  spoke. 

Yet  gentle  concord  never  broke  ; 

That  tuneful  tongue  shall  plead  for  thee. 

When  death  unvails  eternity. 

Say,  did  these  fingers  delve  the  mine, 
Or  with  it's  envied  rubies  shine? 
To  hew  the  rock  or  wear  the  gem 
Can  nothing  now  avail  to  them. 
But  if  the  page  of  truth  they  sought, 
Or  comfort  to  the  mourner  brought, 


DOCTOR  DROLLHEAD'S  CURE         279 

These  hands  a  richer  meed  shall  claim 
Than  all  that  waits  on  wealth  or  fame. 

Avails  it,  whether  bare  or  shod. 
These  feet  the  path  of  duty  trod? 
If  from  the  bowers  of  joy  they  fled 
To  sooth  affliction's  humble  bed ; 
If  grandeur's  guilty  bribe  they  spurned, 
And  home  to  virtue's  lap  returned. 
These  feet  with  angel's  wings  shall  vie, 
And  tread  the  palace  of  the  sky. 

— Anonymous. 


Doctor  Drollhead's  Cure 

THREE  weeks  to  a  day  had  old  Doctor  Drollhead 
Attended  to  Miss  Debby  Keepill; 
Three  weeks  to  a  day  had  she  lain  in  her  bed 
Defying  his  marvelous  skill. 

She  put  out  her  tongue  for  the  twenty-first  time, 
But  it  looked  very  much  as  it  should  ; 

Her  pulse  with  the  doctor's  scarce  failed  of  a  rhyme, 
As  a  matter  of  course,  it  was  good. 

Today  has  this  gentleman  happened  to  see — 
Very  strange  he's  not  done  it  before — 

That  the  way  to  recovery  simply  must  be 

Right  out  of  this  same  chamber  door. 

So  he  said,  "  Leave  your  bed,  dear  Miss  Keepill,  I  pray  ; 

Keep  the  powders  and  pills,  if  you  must, 
But  the  color  of  health  will  not  long  stay  away 

If  you  exercise  freely,  I  trust." 

"Why,  doctor!  of  all  things,  when  I  am  so  weak 
That  scarce  from  my  bed  can  I  stir, 

Of  color  and  exercise  thus  will  you  speak? 

Of  what  ARE  you  thinking,  dear  sir  ?  " 


X 


280  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

"  That  a  fright  is  the  cure,  my  good  lady,  for  you," 

He  said  to  himself  and  the  wall, 
And  to  frighten  her,  what  did  the  good  doctor  do, 

But  to  jump  into  bed,  boots  and  all. 

And  as  in  jumped  he,  why  then  out  jumped  she, 
Like  a  hare,  except  for  the  pother. 

And  shockingly  shocked,  pray  who  wouldn't  be  ? 
Ran,  red  as  as  a  rose,  to  her  mother. 

Doctor  Drollhead,  meanwhile.  Is  happily  sure, 
Debby  owes  a  long  life  just  to  him; 

And  vows  he  's  discovered  a  capital  cure 

For  the  bedrid  when  tied  by  a  whim. 

At  any  rate,  long,  long  ago  this  occurred. 

And  Debby  is  not  with  the  dead  ; 
But  in  pretty  good  health,  't  may  be  gently  inferred, 

Since  she  makes  all  the  family  bread. 

— Anonymous. 

Ould  Docther  Mack 

YE  may  tramp  the  world  over 
From  Delhi  to  Dover, 
And  sail  the  salt  say  from  Archangel  to  Arragon. 
Circumvint  back 
Through  the  whole  Zodiack, 
But  to  ould  Docther  Mack  ye  can't  furnish  a  paragon. 
Have  ye  the  dropsy. 
The  gout,  the  autopsy? 
Fresh  livers  and  limbs  instantaneous  he  'II  shape  yez  ; 
No  ways  infarior 
In  skill,  but  suparior. 
And  lineal  postarior  of  Ould  Aysculapious ; 

H'e  and  his  wig  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye  and  complexion  clarety : 
Here's  to  his  health, 
Honor  and  wealth. 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crame  of  all  charity! 


OULD  DOCTHER  MACK  281 

How  the  rich  and  the  poor. 

To  consult  for  a  cure, 
Crowd  on  to  his  doore  in  their  carts  and  their  carriages. 

Shown'  their  tongues 

Or  unlacin'  their  lungs, 
For  divle  one  symptom  the  docther  disparages. 

Troth,  and  he  '11  tumble 

For  high  or  humble 
From  his  warm  feather-bed  wid  no  cross  contrariety ; 

Makin'  as  light 

Of  nursin'  all-night 
The  beggar  in  rags  as  the  belle  of  society. 


And  as  if  by  meracle, 

Ailments  hysterical, 
Dad,  wid  one  dose  of  bread-pills  he  can  smother, 

And  quench  the  love-siclcness 

Wid  wonderful  quickness. 
By  prescribin'  the  right  boys  and  girls  to  aich  other. 

And  the  sufferin'  childer — 

Your  eyes  'twould  bewilder 
To  see  the  wee  craythurs  his  coat-tails  unravellln', 

And  aich  of  them  fast 

On  some  treasure  at  last, 
Well  known'  ould  Mack  's  just  a  toy-shop  out  travellln' 

Then,  his  doctherin'  done, 

In  a  rollickin'  run 
Wid  the  rod  or  the  gun,  he's  the  foremost  to  figure, 

By  Jupiter  Ammon, 

What  Jack-snipe  or  salmon 
E'er  rose  to  backgammon  his  tail-fly  or  trigger ! 

And  hark !  the  view-hollo ! 

'Tis  Mack  in  full  follow 
On  black  Faugh-a-ballagh  the  country-side  sailin'. 

Och,  but  you'd  think 

'Twas  ould  Nimrod  in  pink, 
Wid  his  spurs  cryin'  chink  over  park-wall  and  palin'. 


282  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

He  and  his  wig.  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye  and  complexion  clarety  ;* 

Here's  to  his  health. 

Honor  and  wealth ! 
Hip,  hip,  hooray  !  wid  all  hilarity. 
Hip,  hip,  hooray  I  that's  the  way, 
All  at  once,  without  disparity! 

One  more  cheer 

For  our  docther  dear. 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crame  of  all  charity. 

Hip,  hip,  Hooray ! 

— Arthur  Percival  Graves. 


Appendicitis 

AVE  you  got  the  new  disorder? 
If  you  haven't  'tis  in  order 
To  succumb  to  it  at  once  without  delay. 
■  It  is  called  appendicitis. 
Very  different  from  gastritis. 

Or  the  common  trash  diseases  of  the  day. 

It  creates  a  happy  frolic, 
Something  like  the  winter  colic, 

That  has  often  jarred  our  inner  organs  some. 
Only  wrestles  with  the  wealthy, 
And  the  otherwise  most  healthy. 

Having  got  it,  then  your  nigh  to  kingdom  come. 

Midway  aown  in  your  intestine, 
Its  interstices  infestin'. 

Is  a  little  alley,  blind  and  dark  as  night ; 
Leading  off  to  simply  nowhere. 
Catching  all  stray  things  that  go  there ; 

As  a  pocket  it  is  simply  out  of  sight. 

It  is  prone  to  stop  and  grapple 
With  the  seed  ot  grape  or  apple, 

Or  a  soldier  button  swallowed  with  your  pie. 


LAMENT  OF  AN  UNFORTUNATE  DRUGGIST        283 

Having  levied  on  these  chattels, 
Then  begin  internal  battles, 

That  are  apt  to  end  in  mansions  in  the  sky. 

Once  located,  never  doubt  it, 
You  would  never  be  without  it ; 

It's  a  fad  among  society  that's  gay; 
Old  heart  failure  and  paresis 
Have  decamped  and  gone  to  pieces, 

And  dyspepsia  has  fallen  by  the  way. 

Then  stand  back  there  diabetes. 
For  here  comes  appendicitis, 

With  a  brood  of  minor  troubles  on  the  wing; 
So,  vermiform,  here's  hoping 
You'll  withstand  all  drastic  doping, 

And  earn  the  appellation,  "  Uncrowned  King." 

— Anonymous. 


Lament  of  an  Unfortunate  Druggist 

A  member  of  the  Pharmaceutical  Society,  whose  matrimonial 
speculations  have  been  disappointed. 

YOU  that  have  charge  of  wedded  love,  take  heed 
To  keep  the  vessel  which  contains  it  air-tight ; 
So  that  no  oxygen  may  enter  there ! 
Lest  (like  as  in  a  keg  of  elder  wine. 
The  which,  when  made,  thy  careless  hand  forgot 
To  bung  securely  down)  full  soon,  alas! 
Acetous  fermentation  supervene 
And  winter  find  thee  wineless,  and,  instead 
Ot  wine,  afford  thee  nought  but  vinegar. 

Thus  hath  it  been  with  me  :  there  was  a  time 
When  neither  rosemary  nor  jessamine, 
Cloves  or  verbena,  marechale,  resede. 
Or  e'en  great  Otto's  self,  were  more  delicious 
Unto  my  nose,  than  Betsy  to  mine  eyes  ; 


284  THE  DOCTOR'S  WINDOW 

And,  in  our  days  of  courtship,  I  have  thought 

That  my  career  through  life,  with  her,  would  be 

Bright  as  my  own  show-bottles ;  but,  ah  me  ! 

It  was  a  vision'd  scene.     From  what  she  was 

To  what  she  is,  is  as  the  pearliness 

Of  Greta  Prasp.  compared  with  Antim.  Nig. 

There  was  a  time  she  was  all  Almond-mixture 

(A  bland  emulsion ;  I  can  recommend  it 

To  him  who  hath  a  cold) ,  but  now,  woe  !  woe  I 

She  is  a  fierce  and  foaming  combination 

Of  turpentine  with  vitriolic  oil. 

Oh  !  name  not  Sulphur,  when  you  speak  of  her. 
For  she  is  Brimstone's  very  incarnation. 
She  is  the  Bitter-apple  of  my  life, 
The  Scillas  oxymel  of  my  existence, 
That  knows  no  sweets  with  her. 

What  shall  I  do? — where  fly? — what  Hellebore 
Can  ease  the  madness  that  distracts  my  brain  I 
What  aromatic  vinegar  restore 
The  drooping  memory  of  brighter  days . 
They  bid  me  seek  relief  in  Prussic  acid  ; 
They  tell  me  Arsenic  holds  a  mighty  power 
To  put  to  flight  each  ill  and  care  of  life  : 
They  mention  Opium,  too  ;  they  say  its  essence. 
Called  Battley's  Sedative,  can  steep  the  soul 
Chin-deep  in  blest  imaginings  ;  till  grief 
Changed  by  its  chemic  agency,  becomes 
One  lump  of  blessed  Saccharum ; — these  things 
They  tell  to  me — me,  who  for  twelve  long  years 
Have  triturated  drugs  for  a  subsistence. 
From  seven  i'  th'  morning  until  the  midnight  hour. 
I  have  no  faith  in  physic's  agency 
E'en  when  most  genuine,  for  I  have  seen 
And  analysed  its  nature,  and  1  know. 
That  Humbug  is  its  Active  Principle, 
Its  ultimate  and  Elemental  Basis. 
What  then  is  left?  No  more  to  Fate  I'll  bend: 
I  will  rush  into  chops  I  and  Stout  shall  be — my  end  ! ! 

— Anonymous. 


Notes 

Carleton,  pp  21,  139.  "The  Country  Doctor"  is  from 
"Rhymes  of  Our  Planet,"  copyright,  1895,  by  Harper  and 
Brothers;  and  "The  Doctor's  Story"  is  from  "Farm  Le- 
gends," copyright,  1875,  1887,  by  Harper  and  Brothers.  These 
poems  are  published  by  special  arrangement  with  the  author 
and  publishers. 

Field,  pp  22,  147.  The  poems  "His  Pneumogastric 
Nerve,''  and  "Doctors"  were  written  by  Mr.  Field  while 
in  London  In  1889-90,  and  were  published  in  the  Chicago 
Daily  News,  now  the  Chicago  Record.  The  original  text  is 
here  given. 

Riley,  p  25.  The  changes  in  the  text  from  original  in 
•'  Doc  Sifers  "  were  made  by  Mr.  Riley  especially  for  this  col- 
lection. The  poem  as  here  given  is  the  same  as  will  appear 
in  the  revised  edition  of  this  author's  works. 

Helmuth,  p  31.  "  My  First  Patient"  was  originally  read 
at  the  banquet  of  the  American  Institute  of  Homoeopathy,  at 
Pittsburg,  and  afterwards  at  a  faculty  dinner  at  the  Hotel 
Brunswick,  New  York. 

Bruns,  p  36.  Dr.  J.  Dickson  Bruns  was  a  native  of 
South  Carolina,  and  was  born  in  Charleston,  in  1837.  For 
many  years  preceeding  his  death,  in  1883,  he  was  a  resi- 
dent and  a  leading  practitioner  of  New  Orleans.  The  poem, 
"  Morituri  Salutamus,"  was  obtained  from  his  son.  Dr.  Henry 
Dickson  Bruns  of  New  Orleans. 

Mitchell,  p  49.  "  Minerva  Medica"  was  originally  read 
at  the  dinner  commemorative  of  the  fiftieth  year  of  the  doctor- 
ate of  D.  Hayes  Agnew,  April  6,  1888. 

Kerner,  p  101.  This  rendering  of  "The  Doctor's 
Walk"  is  by  the  Rt.  Rev.  J.  L.  Spalding  and  is  from  his  volume 
of  excellent  translations,  "  Songs  Chiefly  from  the  German." 


286  NOTES 

Parsons,  p  114.  "The  Good  Physician"  originally  aps 
peared  in  The  Galaxy  for  November,  1862. 

Garth,  p  120.  "The  Dispensary"  is  a  burlesque  poem 
In  six  cantos,  written  in  defence  of  an  edict  passed  by  the  Col- 
lege of  Physicians,  July,  1687,  which  required  medical  men  to 
give  gratuitous  advice  to  the  poor.  The  poem  was  published 
in  1696. 

Chaucer,  p  130.  "A  Fourteenth  Century  Doctor"  is 
from  "  The  Canterbury  Tales,"  and  is  the  oldest  poetic  descrip- 
tion of  a  physician  in  modern  English  literature. 

Meston,  p  142.  This  "Diploma"  is  considered  one  of  the 
best  of  the  older  macaronics.  It  was  written  by  William  Mes- 
ton, M.  A.,  Professor  of  Philosophy  in  Marischal  College,  Aber- 
deen, about  the  beginning  of  last  century,  whose  works  are  now 
rarely  to  be  seen, 

Armstrong,  p  167,  "The  Art  of  Preserving  Health" 
was  published  in  1744,  and  attracted  a  considerable  attention 
in  its  day.  It  is  a  kind  of  dictionary  of  domestic  medicine, 
containing  much  learning,  much  medical  and  moral  philosophy, 
but  without  much  original  power,  either  of  poetical  conception 
or  execution ;  it  is,  however,  distinguished  by  classical  correct- 
ness and  closeness  of  style. 

Hemmeter,  p  219.  "  Hygeia  Grant  Thy  Blessing,"  is 
from  the  Cantata  of  "  Hygeia."  the  music  as  well  as  the  text 
being  written  by  Prof.  Hemmeter.  This  song  was  produced 
before  the  American  Medical  Association  in  Baltimore,  in  May, 
1895. 

DuFFiELD,  p  227.  "  De  Arte  Medendi  "  was  delivered  at 
the  Fourteenth  Annual  Commencement  of  the  Detroit  Medical 
College,  March  2,  1882. 

Illustrations.  The  privilege  of  reproducing  the  picture, 
"  A  Cure  for  the  Gout"  has  been  purchased  from  the  Berlin 
Photographic  Company  of  New  York,  who  are  the  owners  of  the 
copyright.  "  The  Anxious  Moment,"  "  A  Clinic  by  Dr. 
Charcot,"  and  "  The  Doctor  "  are  used  by  special  arrangements 
with  William  Wood  and  Company,  New  York,  and  are  from 
their  series  of  pictures  for  physicians'  offices. 


List   of   Authors 


Archibald,  Mrs.  George     p  71 
Armstrong,  Dr.  John     p  167 
Axon,  William  E.  A.    p  45 
Bates,  Charlotte  Fiske    p  163 
Bates,  Katharine  Lee     p  131 
Bayles,  J.  C.    p  195 
Bell,  Dr.  W.  J.    p  246 
Benton,  Joel    p  63 
Bennett.  Dr.  S.  F.     p  242 
Bishop,  Samuel    p  225 
Blackie,  John  Stuart     p  16 
Blood,  Henry  Ames     p  46 
Brooks,  Fred  Emerson    p  161 
Brown,  Theron    p  220 
Browning,  Elizabeth  B.     p  154 
Burnett,  James  G.    p  29 
Bruns,  Dr.  J.  Dickson    p  36 
Byron,  Lord    p  82 
Cameron,  Stuart     p  115 
Carleton,  Will      p  21,  139 
Chandler,  Henry    p  119 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey    p  130 
Chismore,  Dr.  George    pill 
Clarke,  H.  Savile     p  64,  95 
Col  man,  George    p  75 
Cooke,  Rose  Terry    p  84 
Crabbe,  George    p  87 
Crandall,  Charles  H.     p  244 
Cheyne,  Dr.  John    p  226 
Dickens,  Charles    p  128 
DiCKiNSON,  Emily     p  146 


Dillon,  Wentworth    p  62 
Dobell,  Sydney     p  15,  148 
Dobson,  Austin     p  9,  224 
Drummond,  Dr.  Wm.  Henry  p  271 
Duffield,  Dr.  D.  Bethune     p  227 
DuNCOMBE,  William    p  27 
Field,  Eugene     p  22,  147 
Flagg,  Edward  Octavus    p  149 
Foss,  Sam  Walter    p  72 
Freeman,  Dr.  Edward  D.     Hi 
Frisbie,  Myles  Tyler    p  1 16 
Garth,  Samuel    p  120 
Gould,  S.  Baring-    p  54 
Graves,  Richard    p  124,  183 
Griswold,  Dr.  Joseph  B.     p  125 
Hamilton,  Eugene  Lee-     p  53 
Harlow,  Dr.  Wm.  Burt     p  28 
Harvey,  James  Clarence     p  106 
Heaton,  John  Langdon     p  165 
Helmuth,  Dr.  Wm.  Tod   p  31,  152 
Hemmeter,  Dr.  John  C.     p  219 
Henley,  William  Ernest     p251 
Hogg,  James     p  52 
Holmes,  Dr.  Oliver  W.  p  18.  21 1 
Hood,  Thomas     p  198 
Hopkins,  Dr.  Lemuel     p  191 
King,  Ben     p  1 10 
Jenner,  Dr.  Edward     p  112 
Johnston,  Dr.  J.     p  83 
Jonson,  Ben     p  141 
Kelley,  Dr.  Samuel  W.     p  85 


288 


LIST  OF  AUTHORS. 


Kerner,  Andreas  JusTiN    p  101 
Lamson,  Frederick  Locker-   p  74 
Langbridge,  Frederick     p  118 
Lapius,  S.  Q.    p  107 
Lettsom,  John  Coakley     p  95 
Leverett,  Mary  E.    p  138 
Litchfield,  Grace  Denio     p  155 
Lloyd,  J.  William     p  249 
Luce,  Samuel  Slayton    p  96 
Matthews,  Dr.  James  N.     p  30 
McFarland,  Dr.  Andrew    p  166 
McGlasson,  Eva  Wilder  p  80,221 
Meston,  William     p  142 
Miller,  Abraham  Perry     p  134 
Mitchell,  Dr.  S.  Weir    p  49,  207 
Parsons,  Thomas  William     p  1 14 
Peck,  Samuel  Minturn     p  98 
Peterson,  Dr.  Frederick     p  197 
Prentiss,  Caroline  Edwards  p  1 8 1 
Prior,  Matthew    p  40 
Rand,  Dr.  N.  W.     p  202 
Raymond,  Charles  Lansing  p  129 
Reaves,  Rebecca  Morrow     p  113 
Riley,  James  Whitcomb    p  25 
RoBY,  Dr.  Henry  W.    p  102 
Salom,  Absalom  B.    p  250 
Saltus,  Francis  Saltus  p  66,  164 


Sannazarius,  Actios    p  8 1 
Santolius,  Johannes     p  160 
Saxe,  John  Godfrey     p  68 
Semple,  Henry  Coolidge    p  187 
Sheldon,  Lurana  W.     p  184 
Smith,  Dr.  Andrew     p  193 
Smith,  Dr.  Charles    p  78 
Smith,  Horace     p  41,  100 
Smith,  James    p  69 
Stockbridge,  George  H.     p  43 
Stoddard,  William  Osborn   p  132 

StERRY,  J.  ASHBY-      p   104 

Todhunter,  John     p  182 
TussER,  Thomas    p  73 
Van  Fredenberg,  H.  a.  p  135,223 
Wadd,  William     p  151 
Waller,  Edmund    p  196 
Ward.  Dr.  E.  B.     p  205 
Wesley,  Charles    p  247 
Whitman,  Walt    p  133 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf  p  117 
Wiley,  Dr.  Harvey  W.     p  2 1 0 
Williams,  Richard  Dalton    p  273 
Wilson,  Dr.  T.  P.     p  185 
Wynter,  Dr.  Andrew    p  226 
Anonymous    p  277-283 


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